by Sally Rippin
‘Polly!’ her father cries. ‘You’re here! Oh, my little jamcake. I knew you’d make it eventually!’ He holds his ghostly arms out wide and Polly runs into them.
‘Papa!’ Polly sobs, tears pushing up through her chest and down her cheeks. ‘It’s you!’
Polly sinks into the cool mist of her father’s ghostly form. She sobs and sobs as she thinks of all the years she had hoped desperately that she might see him again. And now he is here.
Eventually, she stops crying and her father smiles at her tenderly, his ghostly eyes shimmering with tears. ‘Yes, my darling witchkin. It’s me. The stones brought you to me. At last!’
Polly looks up at her father in amazement. ‘I thought that was you calling me!’ she says. ‘I kept seeing you in the visions the stones were sending me. But how did you do it?’
‘The how is not as important as the why, my darling,’ her father explains, his voice grave and sorrowful. ‘Blackmoon Coven is in terrible danger. I called you here to help me save it. But we must be quick. Time is running out!’
‘Me?’ says Polly. ‘But why? What is happening?’
Her father lowers his sad face closer to Polly’s. ‘Tell me how you felt when you walked into these mines?’
‘Oh, awful!’ Polly says, remembering. ‘Sad and angry and hopeless. Like the world was a terrible place.’ She lowers her voice in shame. ‘It even made me think horrible things about Buster.’
She looks up towards dear, kind Buster, feeling bad for having hurt him. He has joined a ghostly board game and the other ghosts are thrilled to finally play with someone who can move the pieces with their fingers, instead of having to do it with their minds. It makes for a much faster game.
Her father continues. ‘What you felt was all the darkest parts of yourself, Polly. The parts you don’t necessarily like or feel proud of, but manage to keep buried away.’
He sees the embarrassed look on Polly’s face and smiles. ‘It’s OK, though, my lovely. Everybody has a dark side. You don’t need to feel ashamed.’
‘Buster didn’t,’ Polly says, frowning. ‘He stayed the same. He didn’t become mean to me, like I was with him.’
Polly’s father smiles. ‘There aren’t many witches, warlocks or monsters who don’t have a mean bone in their body,’ he tells her. ‘So I would say Buster is quite an extraordinary monster.’
Polly grins and looks over at her friend, who is picking his nose while he considers his next move. She giggles. ‘Extraordinary, but also occasionally gross.’
Her father laughs. Then his face grows serious again. Very serious. He runs a ghostly hand across the top of Polly’s head and she feels a coolness shiver through her. ‘That bad feeling you felt, Polly, comes from the gorvan.’
‘The gorvan?’ Polly gasps. ‘Not like the gorvan from witchtales? But I didn’t think they were real!’
‘I didn’t believe in them either, my love,’ her father sighs. ‘Even though my monster crew warned me about them. They begged me not to dig our mines too deep into the mountain in case we woke one. But I’m afraid I didn’t listen. The lure of the gorvan made me greedy. I became obsessed, digging deeper and deeper, hoping to find the rarest, most precious stones I could. This was a grave mistake, Polly. A very grave mistake.’ He shudders and looks off into the distance, his eyes sad and heavy.
‘Polly, my crew and I have never known such fear in all our lives, and you know as well as anyone I am not a cowardly warlock – and I worked with some of the bravest monsters you could ever know. But even the approaching fog of the gorvan, curling thick and purple up through the cracks of the earth, chilled us to our very bones. Luckily, before the tunnel came crumbling down and took our living bodies with it, and before the gorvan could escape out into the world, I was able to cast one last spell to hold it behind that wall over there. But I’m afraid it won’t hold for much longer, Polly. The gorvan is becoming too strong.’
Polly looks over at the far wall of the chamber. It glows an eerie purple and, as she watches, it seems to shimmer and buckle, almost as if it were breathing. Her tummy butterflies when she remembers all the spooky tales of gorvans she heard when she was growing up.
‘But how is it getting stronger?’ Polly says.
‘The gorvan feeds on fear,’ her father explains, ‘and transforms it into hate. Something must have happened in Blackmoon Coven recently that has begun to feed it. It has been getting stronger every day. That’s why I called you here so urgently through the stones, even though I knew it would be dangerous for you to come.’
Polly’s heart sinks. ‘My spell!’ she says. She never dreamed that the trouble she started on that day could have travelled so far. ‘Papa, it was my spell that began all this!’ And she tells her father all about that day in the gallery and how, ever since then, things have gone from bad to worse.
Her father sighs. ‘This is not your fault, my poppet. Fear and hatred have always existed among witches and monsters, and there will always be witches like Deidre Halloway just waiting for any opportunity to stir up the worst in all of us. Your spell may have been the spark, but I suspect even Deidre Halloway would have no idea what has been happening down here in this mine. You see, the more hatred and fear she stirs up, the more powerful the gorvan becomes. And, in turn, the more powerful the gorvan becomes, the more anger, hatred and fear seeps out into the world.’
‘Oh Papa! But what can we do?’ Polly says, her eyes on the oozing purple wall behind him.
‘I need you to do the spell to put the gorvan back to sleep. Only then will Blackmoon Coven be safe,’ her father explains.
‘Why can’t you just do it?’ Polly asks.
Her father smiles. ‘I can no longer do magic now that I’m a ghost. It has to be you, Polly.’
‘But I’m hopeless at spells!’ she stammers.
‘You just told me you did a protector spell to save Buster in the gallery,’ her father reminds her.
Polly shrugs.
‘And then again to escape from Deidre Halloway?’
‘But it’s not like I was even trying to do them,’ she explains. ‘They just sort of came out of me. When I try to do spells they come out all wrong. Seriously, Papa. I’m worst in my class at school! I really don’t think I’m the right witch to do this. Any other witch would be better than me!’
Polly’s father takes both of Polly’s little hands in his big ghostly ones. They feel cool and mist-like, not like her real father’s hands, but his voice is still the same. She looks up into his deep dark eyes, full of love and longing in his pale, shadowy face.
‘Polly, you are a Silver Witch. I saw it in you when you were born. And it sounds like your teacher can see it, too. Any old witch can go to school and learn to be a Black Witch and do ordinary spells and potions. But you have true magic in you. That is something very powerful, and very rare.’
‘Really?’ says Polly in a little voice. She wants to believe her father, but it seems too impossible to be true.
‘Yes,’ her father insists. ‘It’s in our family. Your Aunt Hilda was a Silver Witch, too, but she ran away from home before anyone outside of our family could know. So, I’m afraid the responsibility has been passed down to you, like it or not,’ her father says, smiling at the disbelief in Polly’s face. ‘I wouldn’t have left you the magic stones and called you here to do such an important thing if I didn’t believe in you. The future of Blackmoon Coven is depending on you, Polly. Now you just have to believe in yourself.’
Polly takes a deep breath. All this information is making her head spin. Up until a few days ago Polly would never have thought there was such a thing as gorvans! Or magic stones or even Silver Witches. Let alone that she’d be meeting her father’s ghost after such a long time.
But now that all of these things have come together in one strange moment in a spooky chamber deep underground, she realises she has no choice but to believe.
‘Well, OK,’ she says nervously. ‘If you really think I can do it then I’ll try.
But you’d better tell me exactly what I have to do.’
‘That’s my witchkin,’ her father says proudly, and stands up to call all the other ghosts to attention.
‘All right, listen up, crew!’ Polly’s father says, floating to the top of the chamber so that all the ghosts can see him. ‘I have great news. My brave Polly has come all this way – with her equally brave friend,’ he adds, nodding towards Buster, who gives a shy little wave, ‘to do the spell to put the gorvan back to sleep.’
The ghosts all look at each other, their eyes widening in surprise. Then they cheer wildly. They float around the cavern, slapping each other on the back and hugging each other, tears springing into their shimmery ghostly eyes. ‘Oh, thank you, Polly!’ they call. ‘Thank you! Thank you!’
‘Five long years,’ one ghost says happily. ‘Five long years and finally we can move on.’
Polly frowns. She looks at her father. ‘Move on?’
‘Yes, Polly,’ he says. ‘I vowed to stay here to guard the mines, to make sure the gorvan never escaped, and my faithful mining crew refused to leave my side. For five years we have haunted these mines to make sure no witch, warlock or monster ever came in here. Once you have done the spell to put the gorvan back to sleep, we will no longer be needed. We will be set free.’
Polly feels her heart begin to curl up a little inside her chest. She is not sure this is what she agreed to. ‘You mean, if I put the gorvan back to sleep, you are going to go away? Again?’
‘Oh, Polly,’ her father says, understanding what Polly is saying. He takes her to one side, where the ghosts can no longer hear their conversation. ‘These ghosts have waited five years for this moment, Polly. Imagine. Five long years neither here nor there. It is time, now, for us to move on.’
‘No!’ she says. ‘You can’t!’ Fresh tears push up through her chest. ‘I’ll come and visit you,’ she sobs. ‘I’ll come every day!’
‘Polly,’ her father says, his eyes shining with tears. ‘You have school and your friends and your future. It would not be a life, visiting the ghost of your father in a dark, dangerous mine each day. You would become a ghost yourself. And think of all these other poor souls. This is not just about you and me, my heartkin. You know you must do the spell. Put the gorvan to sleep and save Blackmoon Coven before it’s too late. And then never come back here again.’
Polly looks around at all the other ghosts filling the cavern, watching her with hopeful eyes. She knows her father is right. She can’t imagine what it has been like for them all this time, waiting for someone to come and release them. She takes another deep breath.
‘All right,’ she says quietly. ‘What do I need to do?’
‘Thank you, Polly,’ he says. Then he turns back to his ghostly mining crew. ‘OK. All of you stand back. Polly is going to do the spell.’
‘Woohoo!’ call some of the monsters, and two of them do a happy jig.
Buster looks at Polly and gives her the thumbs up. ‘Go, Polly!’ he whispers. He smiles at her proudly. Of all the happy, dancing creatures in this deep, dark, gloomy chamber, Buster is the only one who understands how much Polly has missed her father since he’s been gone – and how much she has dreamed of seeing him again. He is the only one who truly understands the sacrifice Polly is making by letting him go.
Polly’s father turns to her. ‘You have the stones, don’t you?’
Polly nods, wiping her eyes. She holds up the little pouch, damp from the heat of her palm.
‘These stones, Polly, come from the very deepest darkest parts of this mine, from right above the gorvan’s heart. That is why they are so powerful,’ her father explains. ‘The stones will make sure the spell does what it’s supposed to do. Once you’ve used them here you can take them home with you again, but make sure you keep them somewhere safe. Never let them fall into the hands of someone else. For while they can be used to put the gorvan to sleep, they can also be used to wake it again.’
Polly looks down at the little silk pouch in her hand. She has had the stones for as long as she can remember. She knew they were precious, even before Miss Spinnaker activated them, but she would never have dreamed they came from right above a gorvan’s heart. Polly promises her father she will guard them with her life and he smiles at her proudly.
‘So, what’s the spell?’ she asks nervously.
Her father smiles. ‘You know it already, my lovely. I’ve been teaching it to you your whole life.’
‘You have?’ Polly frowns, confused. ‘I … I don’t know what you mean.’
Her father beckons Polly over towards the eerie purple wall. As they approach, she realises that the strange purple light is in fact a fine mist, oozing through the rocks into the chamber.
‘The spell is written here,’ her father says.
She looks where he is pointing and steps in closer, worried that she won’t be able to read it properly. Her father doesn’t know how the letters dance around in Polly’s mind, and she feels a flutter of panic.
What if I mess this up? she worries. What if I read out the spell wrong and instead of putting the gorvan to sleep I accidentally set it free? The thought is too terrifying to consider.
But then she smiles. Her father is right. She does know this spell. She has known it by heart her whole life.
Carved into the rock face, glowing in the purple mist, are the lines of the poem her father used to say to her each night when he tucked her into bed.
Polly places the three magic stones along the wall the way her father instructs her to. They gleam brightly in the gloom.
She looks towards her father, who nods at her to continue. Then she closes her eyes to make her mind go quiet. She feels the ground, steady and solid beneath her. The words of the spell come into her mind. It is the only spell she knows off by heart.
‘Wait!’ comes a voice from the other side of the cavern.
Polly opens her eyes. She turns around to where the ghosts are watching her from the other side of the cavern, huddled together as far away as possible from the gorvan’s wall. One of the ghost monsters is waving at her. Polly looks up at her dad, who shrugs, so she walks over to see what the ghost wants. He clears his throat and pulls at his ghostly beard.
‘Um,’ he says, his voice coming out squeaky and awkward. ‘I was wondering, I mean if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind passing a message on to my missus? You see, I never got the chance to tell her that I put some precious stones away for her and the young ’uns. I buried them under the old juniper tree behind the house and I’m feary she’ll never find them. I just didn’t get the chance to tell her where they was before I … you know.’
Polly feels her heart squeeze. ‘Oh, of course,’ she says. ‘What’s your wife’s name?’
‘Mrs Beadle from Dreary Lane,’ the ghost says. ‘You’ll know her coz she’s got this beautiful curly fur; red and yellow, right down to her toes. And the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen.’ He sighs, deep with longing. ‘All six of our littl’uns got them green eyes like their ma. They must be so big. I hopes they’re not giving their lovely ma too much trouble. It must be so hard for her now.’
‘I’d be happy to,’ Polly says kindly. ‘I’ll go and find her as soon as I get back and pass on your message.’
‘Thank you, popkin,’ the ghost breathes. ‘Your da did always tell us what a good ’un you were.’
Polly turns to walk back to the purple wall, but another voice pipes up.
‘Oh, er, um – excuse me!’ a ghostly monster says, stepping forward and wringing his hands. ‘Do you thinks you could pass a message on for me as well? I never got the chance to tell my sister I’m sorry for calling her a grumpling old cesspit.’
He turns his shadowy face towards the others. ‘We had an argument the night before – you know, before we got trapped in here. She is a grumpling old cesspit most of the time, but I do love her. I’d hate her to think that even though we fought like catch and corn, I didn’t love her.
I’ve been worrying about this a lot these last five years. Polly poppet, can you tell her that for me, dear, do you thinks?’
Polly nods. Then another voice comes. Not the voice of a monster, but a warlock. Polly turns towards it in surprise. ‘I think you know my niece, Polly,’ the voice says, and Polly wanders over to look at his face more closely.
‘I’m Malorie’s uncle,’ he says. ‘Mrs Halloway’s brother.’
Polly gasps.
The ghostly warlock nods. ‘I am so sorry to hear how angry and vengeful my sister has become,’ he sighs. ‘Please tell her not to be afraid of monsters. Tell her I loved working with these brave souls every day of my working life. Tell her that monsters are some of the best, most decent creatures I have ever had the fortune to know, and that it was an honour to work alongside them.’
His voice drops, and Polly draws closer to hear what he has to say. ‘It’s not really for me to tell, but she had a bad experience with a monster once,’ he tells Polly quietly. ‘When she was young. You’ll learn this, Polly. That the most angry people are usually driven by fear. Please try not to judge her too harshly.’
Polly opens her mouth to answer, but a chorus of ghostly voices interrupts her.
‘Me too! Me too!’
they call. ‘Please can you pass on a message to my loved ones, dear Polly?’
Polly laughs. ‘Of course! Of course! I can pass on all of your messages. But how will I remember them all, and remember where to take them? Buster,’ she says, ‘will you help me?’
Buster raises his eyebrows and winces. ‘Oh, you know me, Polly,’ he apologises. ‘I have a terrible memory. I can barely remember how many toes I have on each paw most of the time. But don’t you have a notepad and pencil in Miss Spinnaker’s bag? I saw it in there when I was looking for pricklefruits.’
‘Oh, of course!’ Polly says, looking down at the satchel that’s still slung across her back. Deep in the front pocket is Flora’s notebook and pen. She pulls them out. ‘What would I do without you?’ she asks Buster and kisses him on the forehead.
