by Adam Frost
To Iver and Maeve Babich – AF
To my big brother, Foxy McFoxFace – EF
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
THE CURTAIN RISES
WILY GETS SPOOKED
WILY TAKES TO THE SKIES
THE EMPTY OFFICE
THE CREEPY CASTLE
THE SECRET PASSAGE
WILY CRASHES OUT
THE BAT TRAP
THE FINAL CURTAIN
EXTRACT FROM ‘A BRUSH WITH DANGER’
ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE SERIES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
COPYRIGHT
Wily Fox, the world’s greatest detective, was outside the Griffin Theatre in London, staring up at a poster. It was 2 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon. Usually a matinee performance would have just started, but not today. As the poster said, today’s performance of Escape from Spooky Manor was cancelled.
Wily went round to the stage door and knocked. The theatre caretaker – an ancient mongoose wearing about nine layers of clothes – opened the door.
“Ah, Wily Fox. Roderick Rabbit said you were coming. Who’d have thought it? An actual ghost! Here at the Griffin!”
“Apparently so,” said Wily, stepping inside.
“I mean, actors have claimed to see ghosts here before,” the mongoose said, leading Wily down some steps. “The Headless Hyena, for example. The See-through Sheep. But a ghost has never appeared on stage before. In front of an audience!”
The mongoose ushered Wily through a set of double doors and into the stalls, where a rabbit was sitting in the first row of seats, biting his nails and murmuring to himself. He was wearing a long red scarf and a paisley waistcoat. He leaped up.
“Mr Fox,” the rabbit exclaimed, “thank you SO much for coming!” He embraced Wily, giving him a kiss on both cheeks.
Wily stiffened and cleared his throat. “No problem,” he said.
The mongoose disappeared and the rabbit began his story.
“My name is Roderick Aloysius Rabbit and I am producer and director of Escape from Spooky Manor – a spine-chilling, nerve-shredding journey into your deepest, darkest fears.”
“I don’t scare easily,” said Wily.
“This may test your courage,” said Roderick. “Allow me to set the scene.”
The rabbit bounded up on to the stage. Behind him was an elaborate set: the entrance hall of a huge manor house.
“So on Saturday night, all was proceeding as normal. It was the end of the final act – the ghost’s last appearance. The actors were assembled on THIS side of the stage.” Roderick sprang across to the left-hand side of the stage. “Gloria Gerbil says her line: ‘Perhaps we are finally free of this turbulent spirit’, there is a rumble of thunder, a flash of lightning and on walks the ghost.”
Roderick pointed to the door on the other side of the set.
“This is usually Vladimir Vole in a suit of armour,” said Roderick, “but on Saturday night, it was a glowing shroud, hovering above the ground. It gave an ear-piercing shriek and then disappeared.”
“Weird,” Wily said.
“At first the actors kept going,” said Roderick. “They assumed it was Vladimir, trying out a different costume. He takes his performances VERY seriously. Then, at the end of the show, they found him in a cupboard in his dressing room. Hiding. The ghost had appeared to him backstage, then taken his place in the scene. After that, the actors refused to go on the following night.”
“Did you search the theatre?”
“Of course,” said Roderick, “but there was no sign of the ghost. It had come from nowhere and vanished without a trace.”
“So it was just a practical joke,” said Wily.
“But who? Why?” Roderick protested. “I have no enemies. I LOVE everyone. Besides, the actors say the ghost looked so REAL. They’re superstitious at the best of times. Now they’re saying the play is CURSED.”
“Well, I don’t believe in curses – or ghosts,” said Wily.
“Maybe you’re right,” said Roderick, “but I have to say, they’ve convinced ME. A dark shadow has fallen over this production – and it’s going to bankrupt me!”
“So what do you need me to do?” Wily asked.
“Find the ghost, of course,” said Roderick. “I’ve had to cancel today’s performance. I can probably afford to cancel a few more. But Saturday! I must re-open on Saturday! Or all my money will be gone! My reputation – gone! Find the ghost by Saturday, Mr Fox, and send it back to where it came from!”
He buried his head in his arm and burst into tears.
Wily climbed up on to the stage and handed Roderick a handkerchief.
“You’re very kind,” said Roderick, blowing his nose loudly. “There is one consolation. I made my actors promise not to tell anyone about this. Obviously if the public found out that the theatre was haunted, they might not come either.”
“Can you rely on your actors to keep the secret?” Wily asked.
“For now,” said Roderick, “but that’s another reason I need this ghost found quickly. Actors love to gossip.”
Wily glanced around the theatre. “You know I’m a detective, right? Not a ghost hunter.”
“Most ghost hunters are fakes,” replied Roderick. “They’re actors playing a part. I know the type a mile off. I need a proper detective. Someone who can solve mysteries.”
Wily nodded and started to inspect the stage. “Let’s see if your ghost really did vanish without a trace,” he said.
He walked over to where Roderick said the ghost had appeared.
“Has anything been moved since Saturday night?” Wily asked.
“Unfortunately yes,” said Roderick. “I wasn’t really thinking. We put all the props backstage and the caretaker swept the boards.”
Wily took out his magnifying glass and squatted down. Then he searched the stage floor, looking for hairs, fingerprints, threads of clothing. There was nothing.
“Shame the caretaker’s so good at his job,” Wily muttered.
As he searched, Wily wondered about Roderick’s story. He tried to keep an open mind about ghosts. There was no proof that they DID exist, but there was no proof that they DIDN’T.
Which type would this ghost be – real or pretend?
Then he spotted something glinting in between the floorboards.
He crouched down and looked through his magnifying glass. There, in between two of the boards, was a wisp of bright white fabric. Wily tugged on the end and pulled it out. The moment he held it up to the light, it turned black.
“Maybe your ghost did leave something behind,” Wily said.
“What is it?” Roderick asked.
“I’m not sure,” said Wily, “but you can only see it in the dark.”
He cupped his hand round the material and it glowed white again.
“Wow,” Roderick gulped, “do you think it came from the … afterlife?”
“Hmm,” said Wily. “I think it came from the shops.”
Wily dropped the material into a small plastic bag. “I’ll ask my friend Albert to analyze it.”
Wily then lifted up a rug in the centre of the stage and revealed a trap door.
“That dates back to Victorian times,” said Roderick. “I don’t think the mechanism works any more.”
“Well, it’s been used recently,” Wily said. “The dust round the edge has been disturbed.”
Wily opened the trap door and leaped into the small dark room below. He peered into the trap-door mechanism.
“It looks like the cogs have just been oiled,” Wily called to Roderick.
“Not by any of us,” Roderick shouted back.
“This ghost is either very resou
rceful,” said Wily, jumping up on to the stage, “or he has a helper here on earth.”
Wily climbed up a ladder on the side of the stage and examined the lighting rig.
He looked at the stage lighting plan for “Act Three: Ghost’s Entrance”.
It looked like this:
However the lights on the rig were positioned like this:
“Has anyone changed these lights since Saturday night?” Wily shouted down.
“No!” Roderick shouted back. “The stagehands have refused to come back, too.”
So, Wily thought to himself, at the end of the third act, the ghost was meant to be under the spotlights. But someone had moved the lights so they were all pointing AWAY from the ghost. This kept the actor in darkness.
“Who was up here working the lights on Saturday night?” Wily asked, as he climbed down the ladder.
“No one,” said Roderick. “They’re all programmed in advance. We just press a button on that console over there at the start of the show. Then the lights move themselves.” He pointed to a large board in the wings.
Wily walked over to inspect it. He pulled out his magnifying glass again and saw, between two of the sliders, another tangle of glowing fabric. He pulled it out and dropped it in his evidence bag.
“Looks like there was a manual override,” Wily said. “Now, you said you had no enemies?”
Roderick blinked. “I can’t think of any.”
“What about the actors?” Wily asked. “Do they have enemies?”
“I suppose other actors can get quite jealous of Vladimir,” said Roderick, “because he’s the most famous, you see.”
“It’s interesting that the ghost didn’t just scare him – he also replaced him on stage,” said Wily. “Time to pay Vladimir a visit, I think.”
“So you have a hunch?” Roderick asked anxiously. “You can solve the case by Saturday night?”
Wily nodded and patted Roderick’s shoulder. “The criminal doesn’t have a ghost of a chance.”
Wily was standing in Albert Mole’s laboratory, looking at a bank of computer screens. Albert was Wily’s loyal assistant and his laboratory was deep underground – over one hundred metres below Wily’s office.
“So you’ve checked Roderick, Vladimir, the other actors and the stagehands?” asked Wily.
“Yep,” said Albert. “No criminal records, no suspicious activities.”
“What about phone records?”
“They’ve only phoned friends and relatives,” said Albert. “No unusual numbers.”
“Then who’s doing this?” Wily muttered to himself.
“Well, er, Wily,” said Albert, “I don’t mean to worry you, but it COULD be a ghost.”
“The clues don’t point that way,” said Wily. “Someone reprogrammed a lighting rig. And left glowing fabric behind.”
“I know,” said Albert, “I’m analyzing the material now. But in case you are dealing with a supernatural organism, I’ve made these…”
He opened a drawer in his desk and revealed a bag of grey pellets and a laser gun.
Wily picked up the bag of pellets.
“Those are fortified smoke bombs,” said Albert. “If you need to escape fast, they’ll release a small tornado.”
“And this?” Wily asked, taking the laser gun.
“It’s a fast-acting particle freezer,” said Albert. “It turns anything that moves into ice. It works on gases, so I think it should work on ghosts, too. Blue button is freeze, red button is thaw. Test it on that,” Albert said, pointing at a beetle that was crawling on the floor.
Wily pressed the blue button on the handle of the gun. There was a humming noise, then a zigzag of blue light shot out of the barrel and the beetle froze. Crackling ice crystals spread across its body.
“Now thaw,” said Albert.
Wily pressed the red button on the handle, a jagged crimson laser shot out of the barrel and the beetle skittered off.
As they watched the beetle go, Roderick’s photo appeared on all of Albert’s screens.
“He’s calling the emergency number,” said Albert. “It must be serious.”
“Answer it,” said Wily.
Roderick had tears in his eyes as he spoke. “I’ve got reporters at my front door,” he wailed. “Someone must have told the newspapers.”
“OK,” said Wily, “stay calm. If they ask you anything, just say, ‘No comment’.”
“This is EXACTLY what I was afraid of,” said Roderick, his ears twitching. “EVERYONE is going to think the theatre is haunted.”
“I’m on the case,” said Wily. “I’ll find out who the ghost is and tell the whole world the truth.”
After saying goodbye to Roderick, Wily turned to Albert. “Find out who broke the story,” he said.
Albert pressed a button and each of his screens displayed a different website or TV show. He scanned the monitors for every single mention of the Griffin Theatre.
After a few seconds Albert said, “Here,” and pointed at the website of the Daily Smear.
“Story published at 4 p.m. this afternoon,” said Albert, “before anyone else.”
“Check the actors’ phone records again,” said Wily. “See if any of them contacted the Smear.”
Wily read the first part of the article. It was by a journalist called Pete Pigeon.
There were chilling scenes at the Griffin Theatre on Saturday night when the audience for Escape from Spooky Manor were subjected to a real-life horror show!
At the end of the third act, star actor Vladimir Vole, who is winning rave reviews for his performance as the ‘Castle Ghost’, was replaced on stage by a real-life spook!
The ghost first appeared to Vladimir Vole in his dressing room, passing through two walls and a locked door.
“None of the actors made any calls this afternoon,” said Albert.
“Hmm,” said Wily, “so how did Pete Pigeon find out about the ghost? SOMEONE must have told him. But who – and why?”
“Maybe the ghost visited him, too,” Albert said.
“Maybe,” said Wily, putting the smoke pellets and the particle freezer in the inside pocket of his coat. “But we should start by finding out everything we can about Pete Pigeon. And as for Vladimir, now I REALLY want to talk to him. He’s just become a key suspect.”
“Why?”
“Look at the last paragraph of the news story. ‘The ghost first appeared to Vladimir Vole in his dressing room, passing through two walls and a locked door’!” said Wily. “How did Pete Pigeon know this? Vladimir was the only person in the dressing room. So either HE told Pete – or he told someone else and THEY did.”
Albert nodded.
“Either way,” said Wily, “he has questions to answer.”
Vladimir’s flat was a five-minute taxi ride from Wily’s office. As Wily was being driven through the evening mist, he spotted a newsagent’s on the corner. The board outside read: GHOST STEALS THE SHOW. On the next corner, there was an electronics shop. The TVs in the window were all showing the news: STAGE FRIGHT AT THE GRIFFIN THEATRE. The story was everywhere.
Vladimir’s flat was on the ground floor of a building just behind the British Museum. Wily knocked on his door and waited.
“Who is it?” asked a scared voice.
“Wily Fox,” said Wily. “I’m a detective.”
“How do I know you’re not a ghost?” said the voice behind the door.
Wily held up his detective’s badge to the peephole in the middle of the door. “Ghosts don’t carry these.”
There was a moment of silence. Then Wily heard one bolt after another being slid across and a chain being rattled backwards.
A short plump vole opened the door a fraction, peered at Wily and then beckoned him inside.
Wily found himself in a small one-bedroomed flat. The walls were covered with photos of Vladimir performing in different plays. In the corner, there was a large oak wardrobe. The door was open and there was a mattress stuffed into it.
“I feel safest in there at the moment,” said Vladimir.
“Can’t ghosts walk through wardrobe doors as well?” Wily asked.
Vladimir froze, as if he hadn’t thought of this before.
“It’s OK,” added Wily quickly. “What you saw wasn’t a ghost. I need you to help me find out who it was.”
Wily looked Vladimir up and down. He seemed genuinely scared. It didn’t look as if he was involved in a crime or a conspiracy. But then again – Vladimir was an actor, so he would be good at pretending.
“Tell me exactly what happened that evening,” said Wily.
“OK.” Vladimir gulped. “I was in my dressing room, doing my stretches and my vocal exercises. Suddenly the lights were switched off. I didn’t hear anyone open or close the door, so I don’t know how it got in. I turned round and there it was. A large glowing shape with red eyes. It emitted a horrifying shriek. And then it reached out a claw towards me.”
Vladimir was shaking and sweat appeared on his forehead.
“A claw?” Wily asked.
“Yes, like the hand of a skeleton. But black.”
“And then?”
“I’d seen enough,” said Vladimir. “I leaped into the cupboard.”
“Who else have you told?” asked Wily.
“Nobody. Gloria Gerbil – she’s the leading lady – came in and found me, but I didn’t tell her anything about what had happened.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t Roderick tell you?” said Vladimir. “I was too frightened to speak. I nodded when Gloria asked me if I’d seen a ghost, but that’s all. I haven’t said a word to anyone since. Well, not until I started talking to you.”
Vladimir mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “I must say, I feel a lot safer now you’re on the case.”
Suddenly the room went dark. Vladimir shrieked.
