The Hungry Ghost

by H. S. Norup

  When I tell Jason I’ve been grounded, he’s relieved there won’t be any more trips to the graveyard.

  “I’m never going back to that place,” he says, as the school bus rumbles down the hill. “Two nights, then the ghosts are gone and we have almost a year to find out who Ling’s brother was. Next time my parents are in Singapore, my dad can help us search in the national archives.” He holds one of his earphones out to me. “You wanna listen?”

  The rest of the way home, I sit next to Jason while his parents are talking into my ear about marine conservation and single-use plastic, from somewhere freezing cold.

  With Maya’s afternoon snacks untouched on my desk, I read through my notebook, hoping to find something I’ve overlooked. I can’t let Ling return to the underworld for another year.

  When I open my laptop, there’s a message from Granny. She writes that her flight was delayed, so she wasn’t home until after midnight, and she won’t have time to go through the box until after lunch.

  Outside, it’s still sunny and too early for Ling to come round. Lizzie clings to the window in front of me. Her tail curls into a spiral. With the light shining through her, I can see the veins in her body and the scales on her rubbery skin. She vibrates with every beat of her tiny heart. The transparency makes her look ghostly. It’s enough of a reminder to keep searching.

  I scroll through old newspapers on the library website. Some of the articles are useless but interesting, like the one about the man in Cardiff who amputated another man’s arm with a penknife after an accident. When Ling arrives, I still haven’t found anything helpful.

  “In the last hour, I’ve skimmed though a month of birth, marriage and divorce announcements. I’ve even read the obituaries.”

  “Obituaries…” Ling says slowly.

  “It means death notices,” I explain.

  “I know what it means…” Ling closes her eyes. “There was an obituary… The letter writer told Ma… Oh, that was when she began crying herself to sleep… Sir had died on board the ship.”

  “Your father? Died on the way back to England?” On the newspaper archive site, I’m already adjusting the search to: obituary, doctor William, 1918–25.

  0 results found for ‘doctor William’, it says in black letters on the screen.

  When I remove ‘doctor’, a list of eighty-nine obituaries appear. We skim through them together, until Ling gasps and points at my screen.

  I read the whole obituary aloud:

  MALAYA TRIBUNE, 14TH JULY 1922, OBITUARY

  We have to report with regret that long-term resident of the colony, Commanding Officer Mr William Thomas Davidson, who was a passenger on the SS Nellore, bound for Home, died on board and was buried at sea. Death was due to malaria complicated with toxic jaundice. Davidson began his career in the Royal Navy as a telegraphist in 1899, and rose in the ranks in service of the colonial administration. The telegram, received by the Singapore agent of the P and O company, further states that the late Mr Davidson’s son, William Henry, as well as his second wife, Mrs Margaret Davidson, and her daughter, Violet, are proceeding to London.

  “He was a telegraphist.” I smack my hand against my forehead. “That’s how you and William learnt Morse code! That’s how you knew the old maritime distress signal.”

  There’s no mention of Ling, but I don’t think she had expected that. For some reason, she’s crying. It’s as if she’s only now received news of her father’s death.

  Then my computer pings. It’s a message from Granny. I read it twice before I call Ling out of her sorrow.

  “Listen to this… Granny writes, ‘Wilhelmina’s maiden name was Davidson’.”

  I pause for effect, but Ling goes on crying.

  “Isn’t that amazing, Ling? It means we are related. You’re my great-great-grand-aunt, or something like that. And tonight Granny will have a more thorough look through the box, so Dad can bring back whatever she discovers. She’s already found a photo of Wilhelmina, holding my granddad, standing between her mother and father—your brother.”

  We’ve solved the mystery with a couple of days to spare. I feel like dancing around. It takes a while before I realize Ling isn’t happy.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “If William had died on the ship—my brother William—then that would explain why he did not come back for me.” She sobs.

  “But don’t you see… If he’d died when he was a child, then he wouldn’t have had children, and we couldn’t have been related.”

  She shrugs, as if she doesn’t care about that. “William promised he would never forget me, but he did. And he grew old enough to have a grandson.”

  “Maybe he didn’t forget. We can’t know that. We only have the facts.”

  Unfortunately, a key fact is that Ling died as a pauper among strangers.

  “Maybe he didn’t want to forget,” I say, trying to cheer her up. “Maybe he locked all the memories of you away in a safe place, and then he lost the key.”

  —39—

  On Friday night, I go to bed early, after telling Clementine I have a headache. It’s not even a lie. I didn’t fall asleep until after two o’clock last night. No matter what I said, I couldn’t cheer Ling up. And Kiera’s been badgering me all day. She’s more annoyed with me for getting grounded than she is with Clementine. For fear Clementine would allow me to go, I haven’t even told her about the sleepover.

  Pools of rain slide down my window. In the next room, Clementine’s reading to the twins. Their giggles sound through the wall.

  It’s the last night Ling’s here. She’s lying next to me on the bed. We’re both miserable. After tomorrow evening, she’ll be gone. I hope to a better place. I hope what we have discovered will be enough to ensure she isn’t hungry any more. But I doubt it. She still isn’t satisfied.

  My last hope is that Granny will find proof that William didn’t forget Ling. If only he’d done something like calling his own daughter Ling, but he didn’t. Granny’s already answered my email: Wilhelmina didn’t have any middle names. Without asking questions, she’s promised to search for anything related to Wilhelmina’s father.

  I have a nagging feeling we ought to return to the banyan tree and set the mythical creatures free. The first time we visited, Ling said it was the beginning, when the universe was in balance. But we left that world in chaos. Perhaps setting things right could help Ling. I haven’t asked her what she thinks. Ten wild horses couldn’t drag me there—as Aunt Astrid would say. I doubt even ten azure dragons could make me go back.

  After two hours, I’m still not sleepy, so I sneak downstairs to fetch a glass of milk.

  On the way to the kitchen, a lizard crosses my path and scurries under the dining table. It might be Lizzie—I haven’t seen her today. Even if it isn’t her, I have to save the creature from the glue traps behind the curtains.

  Lying on my stomach, I push myself forward on the cool marble floor under the dining chairs. “Come on, Lizzie,” I whisper, holding my cupped hands in front of me. “Before she sees you.”

  The lizard, which is bigger than Lizzie, quivers less than an arm’s length away, when Clementine comes through the swing door from the kitchen with a cup of tea.

  She’s on the phone, saying, “Will believes she just needs to find her role in our family and then all will be well. But, frankly, I’m getting desperate.” She sinks down on a sofa. “I remember you telling me about the problems with your stepson.”

  I don’t think Clementine’s told Dad about our fight, because he hasn’t called, but she’s telling her friends. She’s probably posted a Help!-My-husband’s-daughter-is-impossible message online.

  “Thanks. I’m worried sick. Last week she claimed she saw a girl in our garden—which is fenced—and now she disappears to a local cemetery and god-knows-where without telling anyone. S
he ignores the twins, and I’m honestly afraid—”

  The murmur coming from Clementine’s phone is inaudible. What’s she afraid of? I’m lying completely still, willing the lizard not to move.

  “I told you about the tragedy, didn’t I?”

  My body trembles, and the lizard takes off, vanishing under the kitchen swing door.

  “I can’t even imagine… Will still has nightmares about it. Freja was six when it happened. She stopped talking for months, until she invented an imaginary friend to help her cope with the loss of—”

  A loud wail from the twin’s room interrupts Clementine. While she’s walking upstairs, she tells her friend she’ll call back later.

  But I almost can’t hear her for the rushing, peeping noise in my ears. It’s the sound of a storm which has found a broken window and a gap by an ill-fitting door. The trapdoor to a loft. The gale blasts the trapdoor off its hinges. Air roars through the loft, blowing the cobwebs on the hidden box out of the window amid shards of glass. Before I can react, I catch a glimpse of the next animal letter: a monkey M.

  Like the alligator, it’s sketched in pencil. The monkey’s lips are pulled back in a teeth-showing, joyless grin. Next to the monkey, a chain with an old-fashioned padlock encircles the box. There are two letters on the other side of the chain, but they’re smudged. My vision blurs. The monkey grins at me. It jumps back and forth over the chain until I see two monkeys. As if the first monkey has a twin.

  —40—

  I run upstairs, while Clementine’s still with Billy and Eddie. Inside my room, I lean against the closed door. I’m gasping and can’t stop trembling.

  “What is wrong?” Ling sits up on the bed.

  “It’s all wrong!” I try to force my shallow breathing to slow. I expected everything would be fine when we had solved the mystery of Ling’s past, but it isn’t. The mysterious box won’t leave me alone.

  “It is not all wrong. I am happy you helped me remember,” Ling says. “I know you will not forget me. Perhaps now that I remember her, I can find Ma.”

  “That’s good, Ling,” I say without really listening to her.

  “Come and sit here. I will tell you a story the Malay cook told me. I’m sorry I was not happy. We should chill this last night.”

  “No. We can’t ‘chill’. You’ve watched too much telly on my laptop. Everything’s out of kilter. We have to free the mythical creatures. We have to put that world back in balance.” Afterwards, I might be able to forget about the box. Or perhaps I’ll find a key to unlock the padlocked chain. “Tonight’s our last chance. And I think there’s something—something terrible—I ought to remember.”

  Ling studies me, with a concerned frown. “Then we must go,” she says.

  After getting dressed, I check my pockets. I have my compass, map, pen, paper, matches and first-aid kit. No phone, no knife. In the desk drawer, at the very back, I find my old Swiss Army knife. I got it when I was six. It’s a kiddie knife with a blunt, rounded blade. The only pointed tool is the corkscrew, but it makes me feel slightly better prepared.

  When I reach up to grasp the rope outside my window, the sky rumbles. Lit up by a flash of lightning, Ling floats to the ground, like a falling star.

  By the time we pass Jason’s house, I’m already drenched. The curtains in his bedroom upstairs twitch. The window opens, and he calls for me to stop.

  Two minutes later he’s standing inside the metal gate, under an umbrella. “Where’re you going?” he wheezes. “It’s late.”

  I point up towards the cemetery.

  “You shouldn’t be going up there. Aren’t you grounded?”

  I shrug. “It’s okay. I’m with Ling.” I walk away to catch up with her.

  “But it’s dark,” he calls after me.

  “I’m not pantang,” I call back.

  On the expressway, cars pass with loud swooshes, spraying water up in the air from deep pools on the road. Flickering blinks from the sky light up the beginning of the path into the rainforest. I know it’s dangerous to go into a forest in a thunderstorm, but, this time, that doesn’t stop me.

  No matter how much I try, I can’t remember any tragedy. Only all the sorrow.

  Ling leads me through the darkness to the banyan tree and pulls me into a run. We’re spinning and swirling, until we arrive out of breath in that other world.

  My clothes are dry again, but I have no doubt they’ll become soaked within minutes of leaving the banyan tree. The dragon’s still circling in the haze above the smouldering forest. Rain’s still pouring down outside, but at least the wind has died down.

  We go directly to the pit, although I have no idea how to get the mythical creatures out of such a deep hole. I wish I’d brought a climbing pulley.

  While I’m surveying the area, hoping something sparks an idea, I can’t help wondering where Pontiana is, and whether she’s the one who’s captured the animals. We haven’t seen any other human-like creatures here… no one else who could have made a net of lianas. But why?

  “Why would Pontiana capture the tortoise and the tiger?” I ask out loud. “I understand if she caught the bird to save her baby—”

  “Oh no.” Ling’s eyes open wide in an expression of utter horror.

  I take hold of her shoulders to stop her shaking. “What’s wrong? Can you see the baby anywhere?” Scanning the pit, I try to spot Pontiana or her baby hidden in the mud behind the giant tortoise.

  “Oh, I should have realized…” Ling wrings her hands. “The banana grove, the scent of night flowers, her beauty, the crying baby…”

  “What about the baby?”

  “There is no baby, Freja. It was her. That is one of the things they do to attract prey. They cry like babies. When the sound is loud, they are far away. When it is quiet, they are nearby. That is exactly how it was. We thought the baby had been carried off, immediately before she appeared.”

  “I haven’t a clue what you’re on about. Can you just breathe and explain?”

  “I know who she is: Pontiana. Cook told me stories about her. Horrible stories. I remember them now.” Ling takes a ragged breath. “She is a pontianak.”

  “A pontianak? You mean, a vampire ghost?” So what, I almost ask. Ling’s a ghost herself, and we’re surrounded by strange creatures. Pontiana didn’t harm us. “What’s she going to do? Drink our blood? Eat us?”

  “Only our organs. Well, yours. I am a ghost.”

  I shake my head. I remember the warm feeling inside when she smiled at me and I almost believed she was Mum. “But she was nice to us.”

  “Last time, she needed our help. If we free the mythical creatures, and she is the one who caught them, she will want revenge. We have to get away from here.”

  “But what about the animals?”

  The white tiger growls, as if it understands we’re talking about them.

  “The four mythical creatures have existed since the beginning of time, how can a pontianak harm them?” Ling asks.

  “You’re not making sense, Ling. Someone captured them, right? If Pontiana really is a pontianak, isn’t there a way to defeat her?”

  Ling puts a finger into the dip between her collarbones, saying, “Cook claimed that a nail has to be hammered into a pontianak, right here.”

  “That’s brutal! What if she isn’t a pontianak? If we puncture a main artery, she could die.”

  “She is already dead, Freja.”

  Pontiana clearly isn’t human, but still… “Well, it’s no use, because we don’t have any nails.”

  “What about your penknife?”

  “This one?” I show her the short, blunt blade of my kiddie knife. “Clementine’s confiscated my new knife. I could sharpen a wooden splinter, but that’s probably not going to help much against your scary vampire ghost.”

&nbs
p; Ling shakes her head. “A pontianak is no joke.”

  “Then let’s hurry and free the animals before Pontiana returns. We’ll need the dragon to help us lift the tiger and the tortoise, but he doesn’t like the vermillion bird. It might be best if I disentangle her first.”

  One of the banyan tree’s branches reaches out above the pit. If I tie lianas together to make a rope, I can climb down from the branch. Although, going down into a confined space with an angry tiger—even if it’s a mythical creature—might not be the best idea. But what else can we do?

  I’ve just taken the knife out of my pocket to cut off a hanging root when I smell frangipani flowers.

  —41—

  “There you are, my dears.” Pontiana strolls towards us, through the light rain. Her pristine white dress flows around her. She smiles, like she’s missed us. And it’s impossible to believe Ling’s mad theory that she’s a bloodthirsty, vengeful vampire ghost.

  “Thank you so much for persuading the dragon. He should be finished soon. You did tell him to come here afterwards?”

  Above the steam rising from the blackened forest, azure swirls encircle the darkest cloud.

  I nod. “Where’s your baby?” I ask.

  “My baby…” Pontiana hesitates and frowns. “My baby is sleeping… inside the banyan tree.”

  That’s a bit odd, as we didn’t see a baby inside the den, but perhaps she put it down immediately before coming here. “I’m glad you caught the bird and saved your baby. Aren’t you, Ling?”

  “Yes,” Ling mutters. She’s standing rigidly by my side.

  “Did you catch the tiger and the tortoise too?” I don’t know what they have done to her, but the dragon is kind and helpful and I fear she might’ve set a trap for him.