Ghosthunters and the Totally Moldy Baroness!

by Cornelia Funke

  Unfortunately, Tom could only agree.

  3

  “Here — hic — it is,” said Mrs. Worm, opening a high, narrow door in one of the towers. A delicious warmth flooded out toward them from the former castle armory.

  The large, round room was stuffed full of dented armor, smashed-up lances, broken china, and soot-encrusted paintings. The tools Mr. Worm used to fix all this were piled up on a big table. Next to it was a sofa covered in something rather moth-eaten, with a small table standing in front of it carrying two cups and a teapot. A kettle stood on a trunk in the corner and a fire was burning in the grate. Hetty Hyssop nodded in satisfaction. “Very cozy,” she declared. “Tom, please make sure the doors and windows are secured. This kind of ghost usually doesn’t come through the walls, but I am not sure about closed doors.”

  Tom went to work immediately. He fished a tube of mint toothpaste out of his backpack and started to paint the door frames with it while Hugo wobbled over to one of the big windows and settled himself in front of the cool windowpane. The warm air from the fire took so much out of him that his feet were already turning red.

  “Just look at this!” moaned Mr. Worm. He tugged at his head and held up a handful of hair. “This haunting is making it fall out in clumps! I’m definitely in urgent need of a cigar.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you!” Hetty Hyssop said while she hung up her coat in front of the fireplace and put the bags containing all her equipment on the table. “Ghosts are crazy for nicotine. You don’t want that moldy Baroness to pay you another visit, do you?”

  Mr. Worm quickly put his cigar back in its box. Tom, meanwhile, had painted the window frames with mint paste as well.

  “Well, I’ve put salt all over the windowsills and mint toothpaste on the door and window frames,” he said. “And I’ve put a few handfuls of salt by the door, too. Anything else?”

  “Put the GIHUFO seismograph on the table,” Hetty Hyssop replied. “I don’t want to be caught unawares again.”

  Tom nodded and pulled from his backpack a small device that looked like a radio. “GIHUFO is the abbreviation for Ghost In HUman FOrm,” explained Tom. “This thing tells us immediately if a ghost of this species is anywhere around!”

  “I see,” murmured the Worms, looking at the ghosthunters in fascination.

  “If our precautions should turn out to be to no avail,” said Hetty Hyssop, “then please remember one thing at all cost: Bite your tongue as soon as a ghost comes anywhere near. And” — she reached into one of her pockets — “suck on these lozenges. They taste vile, but they’re very reliable protection against body-nabbers.”

  The Worms obediently put the lozenges in their mouths. Tom and Hetty also took one each.

  “Me, too?” asked Hugo.

  “Nonsense,” said Tom. “No ghost can slip into another. You know that full well.”

  “Mr. Worm,” said Hetty Hyssop, “you recognized the ghost, didn’t you?”

  “Oh yes!” cried Mr. Worm. “Today was the first time she’s shown herself so clearly. But I recognized her immediately. Immediately!” He ran over to a row of portraits that were leaning against the wall. With trembling fingers, he turned them around one after the other. “There!” he finally cried. “There, that’s her!” He lifted up the picture. A woman with piercing eyes stared out at them from a heavy gilt frame. She was wearing a flowing bloodred dress with a pale-colored collar. A dead hare hung around her shoulder.

  Mr. Worm lowered his voice. “That’s her, the Baroness!” he whispered. “Can you see? Down there on the frame, it says: 1623. Jaspara von Gloomstone. I don’t know much about her except her name, but she still has quite a terrible reputation in these parts, even though she has been dead for hundreds of years.”

  “A pity!” Hetty Hyssop sighed. “A great pity. We absolutely must find out more about her. Above all, we have to find out when and how she died — it’s almost impossible to drive out HIGAs without this information.”

  “HIGAs are HIstorical Ghostly Apparitions,” Tom explained to the baffled-looking Worms.

  Hetty Hyssop nodded. “Yes, and they come in very different degrees of dangerousness. I fear that, in this case, we’re dealing with one of the more dangerous specimens.”

  “I’m afraid so, too,” growled Tom. “The haunting presumably gets worse when it grows dark, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh yes!” cried Mrs. Worm. “We barely get — hic — a wink of sleep, what with all — hic — the screeching and moaning.”

  “But today’s the first time you’ve seen her?” asked Hetty Hyssop.

  The Worms nodded.

  “Then we’ve probably come at just the right moment,” said Tom. “Most HIGAs get stronger and stronger when their death-day approaches. They show themselves more often and become more dangerous by the day.”

  “Oh, is that right?” Mr. Worm’s nose was turning paler and paler.

  “Have you noticed that the lights flicker when it’s dark?” asked Hetty Hyssop.

  “Or that the boiler goes out?” added Tom.

  “Absolutely.” Mrs. Worm nodded vigorously. “Yesterday — hic — and the evening before.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Tom. He and Hetty exchanged worried looks.

  “Sheeeee’s eeeeeating the pooooower supply,” breathed Hugo from the windowsill. “Is sheeeeeee a real gourmet or what?”

  Hetty Hyssop cast a look outside. “It’ll soon be dark. Which of you two knows where the fuse box is?”

  “I do,” said Mr. Worm. “Why?”

  “We’ve got to turn off her power supply,” said Tom. “Or else she’ll eat up so much power that nothing and nobody will be able to chase her away.”

  “Precisely.” Hetty Hyssop pulled a mile-long extension cord out of her bag. At one end it had a plug, and at the other it had a long metal spike. “And after we shut down the power, we’ll have to go to the castle library. There is a library here, isn’t there?”

  Mr. Worm nodded. “It’s one of her favorite haunts.”

  “It would be,” said Tom. “The Baroness wants to stop people from finding out anything about her.” He looked inquiringly at Hetty Hyssop. “What else should I take with me?”

  “Apart from your backpack? Hmm. We still don’t know enough about our opponent, unfortunately.” Hetty Hyssop rubbed her pointy nose thoughtfully. “Right. First of all” — she indicated the long cable — “we take the HID — Heat-Intensifying Device. Then we definitely need the mint toothpaste, salt, lozenges to suck, the portable GIHUFO seismograph — we’ll leave the other one here — and, let’s see, yes, a walkie-talkie. Hugo.” She turned to the ASG. “You stay here with Mrs. Worm. The poor woman has suffered enough for one day. If you get paid a visit, let me know via the other walkie-talkie. But perhaps you could also just try tickling your colleague with your icy fingers, or playing one of your other little slimy jokes on her?”

  “Noooo point,” said Hugo. “These jokes only work on huuuuuumans.”

  “Pity,” said Hetty Hyssop, then raised a warning finger.

  The GIHUFO seismograph began to whir and flash, first yellow, then red, then moldy green.

  “Bite your tongues!” hissed Hetty Hyssop. “And suck! Suck!”

  A faint murmuring could be heard outside the door, followed by a scraping, as if fingernails were scratching the old wood.

  “Yoooou looooowdooooown piiiiieces ooooof diiiirt!” breathed a hideously muffled voice. “Miiiiserable — aaaaahhhhh!” It broke off with a shrill scream, and a terrible clattering started up outside, as if giant feet were dancing on the old oak floorboards. Then an icy breath floated under the door, and the ghost screeched shrilly once more — and all went quiet.

  Tom grinned, satisfied. “Securing the door works. Yes, yes, salt is a painful thing for ghosts’ feet. Hugo, just make sure you put on your shoes, because I’m going to sprinkle salt around the whole castle, OK?”

  “OK,” breathed Hugo, and glanced anxiously at his pale feet.

  �
��Good.” Hetty Hyssop hung the Heat-Intensifying Device over her shoulder. “Let’s get down to work.”

  Tom picked up the saltwater spray and the portable seismograph, and Mr. Worm kissed his wife good-bye.

  “Take some coffee with you, darling,” said Mrs. Worm, pressing a thermos into his hands. “Strong coffee always comes in handy.”

  Tom wasn’t quite so sure about that one, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he opened the door carefully, and when the GIHUFO seismograph didn’t utter a peep, the trio stepped over the muddly puddle the ghost had left behind, and got going.

  4

  “First things first: the fuse box,” said Hetty Hyssop.

  “Oh, it’s best to use the old secret passageway for that,” said Mr. Worm. “Otherwise we’d have to go outside specially.”

  He led the two ghosthunters through several long corridors until they reached a room with wooden paneling decorated with skillful carvings of hunting dogs.

  “Now, where was it?” murmured Mr. Worm. “Oh yes.”

  Quickly he made his way along the left-hand wall. Somewhere around the middle he stopped and let his fingers wander over the carved jaws and snapping teeth.

  “Which one looks most gruesome?” he asked Tom.

  Without hesitating, Tom pointed to a huge dog with a terrifying snarl.

  Mr. Worm put his hand between the needle-sharp teeth. With a soft click, part of the paneling swung inward to their right. One after the other, Mr. Worm, Tom, and Hetty Hyssop bent down and slipped through the secret door. An old lantern hung right behind it. Mr. Worm lit the flame and led the two ghosthunters down a musty-smelling staircase into the depths below. Tom started counting the steps, but at some point he gave up. Finally Mr. Worm pushed the lid of a huge wine barrel to one side, and the three of them entered the castle’s cellar.

  “Well hidden,” murmured Tom, and looked around curiously. Massive cross vaults held up the castle walls. Between them were piled crates, planks, and heaps of old stone. A couple of rats darted into the darkness. Gigantic cobwebs hung from the ceiling like dusty gray curtains.

  “Wow, Hugo would love it here,” said Tom, and looked at the still-silent GIHUFO seismograph. “Seems, though, that our Baroness doesn’t like damp cellars.”

  “Oh, I think there’s another reason for that,” said Hetty Hyssop. “Haven’t you spotted the little bite marks all over the place? And the bluish slimy trails everywhere? This place is riddled with TIBIGs.”

  “Ti — um, what?” asked Mr. Worm anxiously.

  “TIny BIting Ghosts,” explained Tom. “Harmless things, not in the slightest bit dangerous to humans. But their big fellow ghosts have quite a lot of respect for them. TIBIGs nibble holes in other ghosts’ wobbly remains, you see. Sometimes they even chomp off whole chunks of important body parts. That gets the big ones into a real state, and they have to use up an enormous amount of ghostly energy to piece themselves back together. That’s probably why the Baroness doesn’t dare to come down here.”

  “So what do these… these TIBIGs look like?” asked Mr. Worm. He looked around apprehensively.

  “Oh, they’re about as big as an orange,” said Tom. “And more or less the same shape, too, but the little beasts are as green as grasshoppers and have long, pointy tongues.”

  “Aha,” murmured Mr. Worm — and froze when two small packs of bright green TIBIGs floated by, ignoring the three humans completely.

  “Perhaps we should take some of them with us,” suggested Tom. “To annoy the Baroness a bit.”

  “Not a bad idea,” said Hetty. “You sort that out, and we’ll go to the fuse box.”

  “The fuse box, yes, of course!” Mr. Worm stammered, looking at another pack of TIBIGs floating by. “It’s over there.” Soon he and Hetty Hyssop had disappeared between the huge pillars and Tom was alone in the darkness.

  “Now, then, let’s catch some ghosts, but quite tiny ones this time,” he murmured, pulling a bag from his backpack. The sticky paper strips Tom took out stank revoltingly of mouse droppings, the Tiny Biting Ghosts’ favorite smell.

  “Come on, you ghost-munching little beasts,” whispered Tom, laying the paper strips on the floor. “Come on, we haven’t got much time.”

  Then he pulled a net out of his pants pocket and hid behind a heap of large stones. He didn’t have to wait long. First a rat appeared and sniffed interestedly at his shoulders, but then there came the faint growling noise that is so typical of TIBIGs sensing their favorite smell.

  Flickering, they floated closer. There were eight of them. Their little eyes glowed in the darkness as they approached the little bits of paper, growling and pushing. The biggest one snapped at the others with tiny sharp teeth — and was the first to get stuck. Two others met the same fate. Screeching, they tried to free themselves whilst their fellow TIBIGs escaped, their howls echoing through the huge cellar.

  Quick as a flash, Tom sprang out, threw the ghost-proof net over his three captives, and stuffed them into his backpack. Angrily they sank their little teeth into his hand, but all he felt was a faint tickling. (Luckily the TIBIGs’ ghostly teeth are completely harmless to humans — a great blessing for every ghosthunter.)

  “Have you got some?” asked Hetty when Tom caught up with her and Mr. Worm.

  “Of course,” Tom said with a grin. “Have you found the fuse box?”

  Hetty Hyssop nodded. “Our ghostly Baroness is on a diet now.”

  Tom sighed, relieved. “Hugo,” he whispered into the walkie-talkie. “Everything OK on your end?”

  “All fiiiiiine,” breathed Hugo.

  “Good,” said Tom. “Then we’ll head for the library.”

  When Mr. Worm opened the door to the castle library, an icy-cold wind blew out at them. The large windows were wide open, and Tom heard the rain pelting down into the castle moat outside.

  Hastily the two ghosthunters shut the windows while Mr. Worm stood in the doorway, holding up his lantern in horror. “Oh no!” he cried. “All the wonderful, wonderful books!”

  There was barely a single book left on the high wooden shelves. They lay in a chaotic heap on the carpet, piled high on top of one another. The precious volumes were open and torn, their old pages creased beyond repair and their leather bindings smeared with slime.

  “Hmm, someone’s beaten us to it.” Hetty Hyssop sighed. “This is surely the work of our dear Baroness.”

  Tom cast a worried look through the window. Dusk was already shrouding the big trees.

  “Yes, it will soon be dark,” said Hetty Hyssop, reading his thoughts. “But we have to risk it. Let’s look for books that deal with the castle’s history. The seventeenth century is what we’re particularly interested in.”

  “We’d better start with the ones at the bottom, then,” suggested Tom. “If the Baroness wanted to hide particular books, they’re bound to be there.”

  “I just hope they’re not outside,” said Hetty, casting a worried look out the window where, far below, the water in the moat made a slapping noise as it splashed against the walls.

  5

  In the pale glow of Mr. Worm’s lantern and Tom’s flashlight, the trio pulled book after book from the chaotic pile. Tom had carefully painted the door frames with mint toothpaste and had scattered whole mountains of salt on the floor. Outside, the night became darker and darker, and the Baroness’s power grew and grew. With flying fingers, Tom, Hetty Hyssop, and Mr. Worm leafed through thousands of crackly old books. They read, drank Mrs. Worm’s strong coffee, and read some more: about feasts and famines, peasant uprisings, hills crowned with gallows, grisly civil wars, royal visits, great fires that destroyed half the castle, and cholera and plague that even the thick castle walls couldn’t keep out.

  “Sounds horrendous!” moaned Tom at some point. “I mean, I imagined it to be much more romantic.” “What?” asked Hetty Hyssop. “Well, life in a castle!”

  “No, goodness knows there was nothing remotely romantic about it,” murmured Hetty. “Es
pecially if you were one of the peasants.” She turned another page and frowned. “Just a moment!” she whispered, and carefully smoothed the crumpled pages. “I think I’ve found something. Yes, this is our ghost. And it is as I feared. She is no mere HIGA; she is a full-fledged GHADAP.”

  “A what?” Mr. Worm asked.

  “A GHost with A DArk Past. A quite unpleasant subspecies, but we’ll explain that later. Now listen:”

  On 14 November 1623, Countess Jaspara of Muckwit married Baron von Gloomstone, whom she stabbed only one year later during a violent quarrel. No one, though, was brave enough to accuse her of that ruthless murder, and the Baroness established a regime of terror after her husband’s death.

  Jaspara quickly gained the nickname “the Totally Moldy Baroness,” because after a hunt she liked to ride across the fields covered in blood, the stains of which promptly rotted her resplendent royal robes. Indeed, hunting was her favorite hobby, and the Totally Moldy Baroness sold her peasants into war in order to keep buying new horses and dogs, while doubly earning her epithet by personally executing poachers by throwing them into the castle moat. Her victims were innumerable. Nevertheless, she ruled for more than ten years before she finally received her just punishment. The youngest sister of her murdered husband…

  Hetty Hyssop paused, raised her head, and listened.

  “What is it?” asked Tom, worried.

  Hetty laid a warning finger on her lips. “Can you hear that?” she whispered.

  “A horse!” cried Mr. Worm. “It sounds like a horse!”

  Yes, it did. Galloping hooves resounded through the long corridors of the castle. The shrill clattering came closer and closer, and the GIHUFO seismograph in Tom’s hands whirred and flashed like crazy.

  “Watch out!” yelled Tom. The galloping hooves reverberated in his ears. “Watch out, she’s coming!”

  With a piercing screech the Baroness flew through the closed library door on her ghostly horse. Snorting, the horse landed just a few feet from poor Mr. Worm. It rolled its red eyes and flared its nostrils. Its mane tossed in the air, writhing like a bundle of snakes. The Baroness sat firmly in the saddle with her hair flying. In her hand she carried a gigantic sword, which she waved wildly in the air. She looked truly hideous, and her eyes glowed red in their dark sockets. With her hair all over the place and a cuirass fastened over her flowing dress, she grinned down at the ghosthunters.