“Look at that,” whispered Hetty Hyssop. “It seems like our moldy Baroness is not as afraid of crypts as Hugo is.”
Dark traces of mud led along the aisle between the rows of carved choir stalls and disappeared into the darkness behind the altar.
Tom bent down. “These traces seem to be quite old,” he whispered.
Cautiously, they went on. A second space opened up behind the altar, a space with several large stone slabs on the wall. Most of them were guarded by weeping angels, stony tears in their marble eyes.
Tom slowly cast his torch over the inscriptions on the slabs.
“Giselbert, Ethelgar, Miesgunde,” read Tom. “Gee, they had funny names. I wonder…” He got no further.
A crackling came from the walkie-talkie.
“Hello, hello!” whispered Mr. Worm’s agitated voice. “Please say something!”
“What’s wrong?” asked Hetty Hyssop.
“She did get here first after all! The batteries have been sucked up!” cried Mr. Worm. “All of them. It looks terrible. What should we do now?”
“Come over to the crypt right away!” said Hetty Hyssop. “As quickly as you can.”
“Bad news,” murmured Tom. He cast his flashlight onto the next slab, which was guarded by two marble dogs. The inscription was competely covered in mud. Tom pulled out his pocketknife and carefully scratched away the filth.
“ ‘Jaspara, Baroness von Gloomstone,'” he read. “ ‘Treacherously murdered at dawn on the twelfth of May, sixteen fifty-eight. Born on the same day in sixteen twenty-three.'”
“May.” Hetty Hyssop rubbed the tip of her nose. “When does the sun rise in May?”
“Just a sec.” Tom pulled a little calendar out of his pants pocket. “Sunrise in May — here. Four-forty. So that’s the only time the Baroness is vulnerable.” He looked at his watch. “It’s just past midnight now. That gives us a bit of time to decide what to do.”
“I fear there’s not much to decide.” Hetty Hyssop looked thoughtfully at the old gravestone. “I know of only two methods for helping such a strong GHADAP to find eternal rest.”
“I know one as well,” said Tom. “You write the ghost’s name backward on a mirror, and somehow get it to look at it. Then it vaporizes.”
“Mmm!” Hetty nodded. “But I once tried that method years ago with a ghost who’d drowned — just like our Baroness. The mirror exploded and the ghost chased me around his castle three times. I was only saved because I somehow managed to get into my ghost-proof car. A dreadful experience. Quite apart from the fact that I had so many glass splinters sticking into me that I looked like a hedgehog.”
“And the ghost?” asked Tom. “What happened to the ghost?”
“He went on to liquidize three colleagues,” said Hetty Hyssop, “until the famous Italian ghosthunter Professor Boccabella destroyed him.”
“What with?” asked Tom. “How did he manage that?”
“By using an incredibly dangerous method,” said Hetty. “He…”
The radio crackled again.
“Help!” cried Mr. Worm, his voice cracking. “Heeeeeelp! She’s coming. She’s coooooming!”
8
When Tom and Hetty Hyssop ran out of the chapel, a hideous sight met their eyes. The snowy courtyard was glowing blue in the ghostly light of the moldy Baroness. Following her car-battery feast, she and her terrible horse were gigantic; so gigantic that the Baroness’s gruesome, moldy head rose up above the castle wall. Screeching and howling, she tore behind the poor Worms, who were running zigzag across the snow like terrified hares. There was no sign S of Hugo.
“Quick, Tom, the whistle!” cried Hetty Hyssop, pulling the HID from her shoulder. The Baroness was just stretching out a pale hand to Mrs. Worm, who managed to avoid the icy fingers only at the very last minute.
“Curses,” muttered Hetty Hyssop. “I can’t get the spike to stay in the ground. What on earth’s going on? Hey!” she cried. “Hey, Jaspara, you monster, come over here! Or are you afraid?”
The ghastly Baroness swung her horse around and stared down at the two ghosthunters with her red eyes.
Exhausted and grateful for a breather, the Worms collapsed into the snow.
“Whaaaaat?” howled Jaspara, her snorting horse prancing closer. “Whaaaaat diiiiid sheeeee saaaaay?”
“Since when have you had a hearing problem?” Tom fearlessly took a couple of steps toward the giant ghostly horse. “She called you a monster. And that’s exactly what you are — or haven’t you had a chance to look in a mirror for the last few hundred years?” Talk, Tom, talk, he ordered himself, while his fingers were desperately searching his pockets for the whistle.
Jaspara bent over her horse’s neck with a murderous smile. “I’ll kill youuuuuu!” she moaned with her horrible voice. “Iiiiiii will kiiiiiill you right noooooow.”
“Oh yes? I don’t think so!” Tom cried. His fingers had finally found the whistle and he blew into it with all his might.
Nothing could be heard — by human ears, at any rate. Jaspara’s ghostly horse, however, reared up so wildly that the Baroness lost her grip and fell backward into the snow. Tom blew again and the horse galloped away toward the castle gate, casting its bluish light onto the snow.
“Now!” cried Tom.
Hetty Hyssop drove the spike into the snow with all her might and threw the HID plug at Jaspara once again. This time, though, it didn’t land in her mouth but wrapped itself, together with its cable, around her throat. The metal spike flew after it and lay on her chest like a piece of strange jewelry.
Slowly, very slowly, the spike began to glow.
“Aaaaargh!” shrieked Jaspara, tearing through the cable with one jerk and hurling both pieces into the snow. Reeling, she got back to her feet.
“She’s already too powerful!” cried Hetty Hyssop. “Let’s hope the HID had a chance to work.”
The Worms were still crouching in the snow. Horrified, they looked up at the Baroness as she came floating toward them with a horrible grin.
“Look!” Tom shouted. “It has worked! She’s shrinking! She’s shriveling up again!”
And it was true: The Baroness was becoming smaller. Steaming, her pale limbs started to shrivel, whilst the snow all around her turned into a bluish shimmering slush.
“Aaaaargh!” she screeched angrily, raising herself into the air and floating toward the poor Worms yet again.
“The Tiny Biting Ghosts!” cried Hetty Hyssop. “Quick, Tom, let them out!”
The TIBIGs. Of course! Tom cursed himself for not having remembered them earlier. With trembling hands he wrenched off his backpack. The Worms were running zigzag across the courtyard again, but their legs could barely carry them, and the Baroness was gaining on them, laughing mockingly.
“Come on out, you lot!” cried Tom, shaking the backpack. “Out, you little beasts!”
The net full of TIBIGs dropped into the snow. Tom tore the net apart, and the little ghosts made off in all directions, growling and snapping.
The Baroness looked around in horror.
“Aaaaargh!” she screeched. “Cursed ghost-eaters!” Angrily she tried to shake off the little beasts, but they had already bitten their way through her flowing ghostly robes. They almost sounded like a pack of tiny dogs as they snapped at her pale limbs, yelping and gnashing their jaws triumphantly. The Baroness flailed at them with her riding crop, but that made the TIBIGs even angrier. They bit whole chunks out of the bigger ghost until the already moldy Baroness looked like a slice of Swiss cheese. Mrs. Worm watched with delighted horror, till her husband grasped her hand and made her run with him toward the two ghosthunters. “Will the little — hic — things eat her up?” asked Mrs. Worm hopefully while she hid behind Hetty Hyssop.
“Unfortunately not,” Hetty Hyssop replied. “But they’ll divert her attention away from us for a while. So let’s get a move on. With a bit of luck, she won’t get rid of the little ghosts until we’re safely back in the armory.”
>
Their legs were as heavy as lead when they started running again. Snow swirled into their eyes, the castle’s main door seemed miles away, and they could still hear the Baroness’s furious screeching behind them. When Tom took a quick look back, her head was just dropping into the snow, but she angrily replaced it, kicked a TIBIG over the castle wall like a soccer ball, and unceremoniously swallowed another.
“Where in the world is Hugo?” cried Hetty when they finally stumbled up the castle steps.
“She blew him over the castle wall!” Mr. Worm gasped and opened the heavy door. “We didn’t see him again after that.”
“She’s coming — hic — behind us again!” cried his wife. And sadly she was right. The Baroness came floating toward them, one TIBIG still snapping at her arms. The sight of her was even more horrible with all the holes in her moldy, ghostly shape.
“Tom, squirt salt water — quickly!” yelled Hetty Hyssop while she pushed the Worms through the door.
Tom obeyed — though it was hard to squirt the water without just hitting one of the holes the TIBIGs had torn into the Baroness. He almost stumbled over his own feet, turning and squirting over and over again while he was running with the others down the endless corridors of the castle. He felt like his lungs would burst at any moment, hearing the Baroness howl and curse behind them as she came closer and closer, until Tom hit her again with the salt water and she slowed down once more. Half dead with exhaustion, the ghosthunters finally reached the door to the armory.
Using the last of their strength, they slipped inside. Tom quickly painted the door frames with mint toothpaste again, scattered the last bit of salt in front of the door, and then collapsed, exhausted, onto the old sofa.
“What if she comes through the door?” he asked, breathing heavily. “What if she’s still strong enough?”
“Well,” Hetty Hyssop whispered, “then all we can do is hope she’s too weak to liquidize any of us. If we want to drive her out — for good — then we need time — as well as a couple of other things.”
They all listened, but it was silent outside.
Very silent.
Till suddenly the GIHUFO seismograph in Mr. Worm’s hand whirred and flashed like crazy.
“Split up!” cried Hetty Hyssop. “She’s coming. Mr. Worm, grab some logs from the basket and set them alight in the fireplace — one for each of us. She won’t like flames. And everyone, bite your tongue!”
And so they stood there, each of them in their own corner, holding the burning pieces of wood, biting their tongues, and waiting.
But not for long.
They knew the scratching and scraping at the door only too well.
“Aaargh!” yelled Mr. Worm. “Her hand! Look, her hand!”
Slowly, very slowly, the Baroness’s pale, moldy hand pushed its way through the wooden door.
“The salt’s not working!” whispered Tom. “Oh my goodness, it’s not stopping her!”
Mrs. Worm started to sob quietly.
But then Tom heard something else.…
9
“Haaaaa-haaaaa!” howled Hugo in the corridor outside. “Ha, Jaspara, yoooou old misery. Do yoooou know where Iiiii ended up? In the moooooat, right in the middle of that muddy, stiiiinking mooooat.” Jaspara’s hand retreated.
Mrs. Worm started to sob again, this time with relief.
“Whaaaaat doooooooo yoooouuuuuu waaaaant, yooouuuuu coooommoooon meeeaaaaasly spooook?” demanded the Baroness in her horrible voice.
“Oh, Hugo, take care,” murmured Tom. “Just take care.”
“What dooooo Iiiii want?” breathed Hugo. “Ooooh, Iiiii want to annooooy yoooou, yoooou big-mooooouthed diiiimwiiiit. I juuust want to annooooy yoooooou a biiiiit.”
“Fooorgeet iiit!” growled Jaspara. “Iii’vee nooot gooot tiiiiimeee fooor suuuch siiiilliiiineeess. Iiii’d raaaatheeer liiiiquuuiiiidiiiiizeee aaaa coooouuuupleeee ooof juuuiiicy huumaaans aaand sluuurp theeem uuup.”
As silently as a shadow, Tom crept to the keyhole and peered through. He was amazed by what he saw.
Hugo was wobbling around quite close to the Baroness, who was still remarkably large. He was tugging at her robes, sticking his tongue out at her, pointing his fingers through her holes, and behaving in a generally childish way.
What was he up to?
“Loook!” piped Hugo. He waved his fingers about in the air and whisk! The Baroness’s head was in his hand.
“Unbelievable!” whispered Tom, astonished. “Completely unbelievable!”
“What is it?” asked Mr. Worm, his voice trembling. “Wh — wha — what’s going on?”
“I don’t get it,” said Tom. “Hugo’s got her head.”
“Aaaaargh!” screeched the head, its teeth snapping at Hugo’s fingers — whereupon he stuck it under his arm without any further ado.
“Puuuut myyy heeeeeaaaaad baaaaack!” howled the headless Baroness. “Nooooow!”
“No!” Grinning broadly, Hugo wobbled to and fro in front of the Baroness’s headless body. “Yoooou’ll have tooooooo come and fetch iiiit.”
“Yoooooouuuuuu loooooouuuuuusy puuuuukeee-greeeeen moooooldy ghooooost!” howled the head, and spat on the ASG’s foot.
Hugo answered this by taking Jaspara’s head in both hands, bouncing it on the ground three times like a rather unsavory basketball — and throwing it through a window. It landed outside.
“Go and looooook for iiiit!” he howled contentedly. “Loooook for iiiit. But don’t run iiiinto the wall, Baroness Not-So-Bright!”
The headless Baroness lunged at him, but quick as lightning Hugo wobbled past the arms that were waving angrily all over the place and slipped through the wall into the armory.
“Soooo?” he breathed down the speechless Tom’s ear. “How was Iiiiii?”
“Unbelievable, Hugo,” said Tom admiringly. “Total respect, my friend, you were just stunning!”
He peered through the keyhole again. The Baroness was drifting down the corridor in search of her head — which was not, of course, terribly easy, given that she had no eyes.
“She’s gone,” he said, turning back to the others. “She’s gone to look for her head, but that might take her a while. Hugo chucked it through the window.”
“Oooh!” the Worms sighed, staring at Hugo with admiration.
“Splendid, old fellow,” said Hetty Hyssop. “How did you do it?”
“It was nooooothiiing!” breathed Hugo, but he inflated himself right up to the ceiling with pride. “Before she blew me oooout of the castle coooourtyard, Iiiii wanted to pay her a cooooouple of cooooompliments and” — he turned red with embarrassment — “kiss her hand. But suddenly Iiiiii had her fiiingers iiin my hand. Stuck toooo them. Just like that.”
“Interesting,” murmured Hetty Hyssop. “Carry on.”
“It made her rather angry, and she blew me over the castle wall iiiinto the moooooat. That annoyed meeee, and so Iiiii thooooought that if her fiiiingers got stuck toooo my hand” — he gave a hollow giggle — “then her head wooooould probably get stuck to it, tooooo.”
“Cunning, very cunning,” said Hetty Hyssop with a laugh. “And of course you knew that you could slip through the wall while she was dependent on doors and windows, didn’t you?”
“Preciiiiisely!” breathed Hugo. “Sheeee’s probably stiiiill looooooking for her head. It’ll beeeee rather snowed iiiin.” Hugo’s pale body wobbled with laughter.
Tom looked inquiringly at Hetty. “Couldn’t that help us get rid of her once and for all?”
“It’s entirely possible,” Hetty Hyssop said. “But how? Let’s have a think.” She turned to the Worms. “Come on, let’s all sit together for a moment. It’s now” — she looked at the clock — “nearly two o’clock. So we’ve still got a bit of time. I’d like to tell you quickly about the only successful exorcism of a GHADAP that I know of — a GHADAP who had similar abilities to our Baroness.” Hetty Hyssop rubbed her pointy nose. “It was many years ago, and Professor Boccabe
lla, who managed to get rid of it, told me about it himself. At first he proceeded as we’ve done: He switched off the power, got rid of all other sources of energy — which we didn’t manage to do, unfortunately — and then he found out the time and place where the ghost died.…”
“The place?” Mr. Worm interrupted her. “Do we know the place?”
“Too right,” said Tom. “She was pushed in from the drawbridge. We don’t yet know exactly where.”
Hetty Hyssop nodded. “But what happened next? Professor Boccabella had an extremely daring but, as it turned out, very effective idea.…”
“Oh, tell – hic — us!” cried a breathless Mrs. Worm.
There was a deathly silence in the armory. Only the wood on the fire crackled gently.
“Well,” continued Hetty Hyssop, “first Boccabella used a trail of skillfully planted batteries to lure the rather hungry ghost to the place where it had died. Unfortunately we don’t have this option. The Baroness is unlikely to be hungry now. But Hugo’s skills might help us again here.”
“Oh, sooooo Iiiiii’m goiiiiing to beeeee the bait,” breathed Hugo.
“Yes, if it comes to it,” said Hetty Hyssop. “So, anyway, Boccabella lured the ghost to the place where it died. And” — Hetty lowered her voice — “and he waited for him there, dressed in an old cloak that the ghost himself had worn while he was still alive.”
“Oh, we’ve — hic — got one of the Baroness’s — hic — dresses!” cried Mrs. Worm excitedly. “I think it’s — hic — the same one she’s wearing in the portrait.”
“Excellent.” Hetty Hyssop sighed, relieved. “Then it could work.”
“Oh, please, tell us more!” Mr. Worm urged her. “Boccabella waited for the ghost. Then what happened?”
“He had a courageous plan,” Hetty Hyssop continued. “He wanted to provoke the ghost into touching him.”
“But” — Mrs. Worm put her hand to her mouth in horror — “wasn’t he — hic — afraid of being liquidized and sucked up?”
Ghosthunters and the Totally Moldy Baroness! Page 4
