by Adele Abbott
“Welcome to The Twisted Ash. I’m Bob Dolittle, the landlord. I hope you’re all enjoying the ghost tour. Keep your eyes peeled—you may spot Dolly; she often makes an appearance. And, while you’re here, please take one of these leaflets.”
He began to walk among us, handing out the flyers.
“I’m sorry, young lady.” He patted Lizzie on the head. “You’re rather too young.”
The leaflet detailed a two for one offer on spirits served during ‘happy hour’.
“There weren’t any ghosts in there,” Lizzie said, after we’d left the pub.
“You’re right.” Mad nodded.
We’d walked no more than fifty yards before the guide halted again.
“This building was once a small prison.”
Mad and I exchanged a glance. A prison in Washbridge? That was news to me.
The guide continued. “Today, the building is home to Slammer Cakes where they sell a wide variety of delicious cakes and gateaux.”
“There aren’t any ghosts here either, Auntie Jill,” Lizzie said.
Just then, a young woman wearing an apron, came out of the shop. She too began to hand out leaflets—this one offered a free hot drink with any cake.
It was a similar story at every stop on the tour. There was a distinct lack of ghosts, but plenty of ‘special offer’ leaflets to be had. At least the rain had eased off by the time we made our way to the final stop on the tour.
“This is just a scam,” Mad said, under her breath. “It’s got nothing to do with ghosts, and everything to do with publicising pubs and shops. I’ll bet our guide is getting a kickback from them all.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aloysius called the crowd to attention. “Disappointingly, we haven’t had any luck so far, but there’s a good chance you may spot a ghost here at Ye Olde Scarfe Shoppe. Keep your eye on that window on the second floor. Crazy Cuthbert, who worked in this shop almost two hundred years ago, hanged himself in that very room. It’s said that he still haunts the place.” The guide paused for dramatic effect. “There!” he yelled, and pointed to the window.
We all looked up, and sure enough, something white passed by the window. Everyone apart from Mad, Lizzie and me, became quite excited.
“That wasn’t a ghost, Auntie Jill,” Lizzie whispered to me.
“It looked like someone wearing a white sheet over their head,” Mad said.
The tour over, the three of us made our way back to the car. En route, we passed by a multi-storey car park where Lizzie suddenly stopped and pointed.
“There’s a ghost in there,” she said, almost matter-of-factly. “Mummy and Daddy always park in there when we come shopping.”
“Who is the ghost?” Mad asked.
“It’s an old man. His name is Bert, and he’s very nice. I sometimes talk to him while Mummy and Daddy are putting the shopping into the boot of the car.”
I took Mad to one side and said, “Can you take a look in there to see what you find?”
Mad nodded. “I have to go now.” She gave Lizzie a hug. “I hope I’ll see you again soon.”
Chapter 11
It was the next morning, and Jack was not a happy bunny.
“Can I have a top-up, please?” I held out my coffee cup.
“You can get your own top-up.”
“Why are you such a grouch?”
“My ears are still ringing.” He put his hands over them, just to illustrate the point. “You knew all along it was a drumathon.”
“I told you last night. I’d forgotten all about it. I thought it was just some kind of singalong.”
“You’re such a liar, Jill. Kathy told me that she’d given you the choice to go to either the drumathon or the ghost tour, and you chose the ghost tour because you didn’t fancy listening to six hours of drumming. Why didn’t you warn me?”
I shrugged, all innocent-like. “It had completely slipped my mind.” I got up and poured myself a top-up. “I really am sorry, Jack.” I gave him a peck on the cheek.
“You will be when you have to pay your sponsorship dues.”
“What sponsorship dues? I didn’t sponsor Mikey.”
“I think you’ll find you did.” He smirked.
“What have you done?”
“What is it they say about revenge?”
“That it’s something you should never do?”
“Too late. When I realised that you’d dropped me in it, I decided I should sponsor Mikey.”
“That was very generous of you under the circumstances.”
“On your behalf.”
“You sponsored him in my name? For how much?”
“Not much.”
“How much, Jack?”
“Relax, it was only four pounds.”
“I suppose I can run to four pounds.”
“Per hour.” He laughed.
“Four pounds per hour? That’s twenty-four pounds!”
“Twenty-six, actually. They did an extra half-hour. The drumathon’s not so funny now, is it?”
I was fuming. We didn’t speak for the best part of thirty minutes until Jack broke the silence. “It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we go for a drive out into the countryside?”
“Sure, I’m game.” I was definitely up for a trip out, particularly if it meant that I wouldn’t have to make Sunday lunch. And, Jack could pay for the meal, seeing as he’d cost me twenty-six pounds in drum sponsorship.
When we stepped out of the door, Mr Hosey’s train was parked on the pavement, opposite our house. There was no sign of the man himself, but I did notice that he had some stickers on the carriages, and on the engine. They read: ‘Your business could be here’.
“What’s going on?” Jack said.
“Mr Hosey came to see me the other day. He was trying to sell advertising on the side of his train.”
“You didn’t sign up for it, did you?”
“Of course I didn’t. I’m not completely stupid.”
Before we could get into the car, Mrs Rollo came dashing out of the house. She looked panic stricken.
“Get back inside, Jill! It isn’t safe!”
“Whatever’s the matter, Mrs Rollo?”
“There’s a tiger! In my back garden.”
Jack and I exchanged a glance. Mrs Rollo had always been a little eccentric, but it seemed she’d finally lost the plot completely.
“Are you sure it was a tiger?” I said. “It was probably just a large cat.”
“I know a tiger when I see one. Get in the house, quickly!”
“Why don’t you sit in our car, Mrs Rollo? Jack and I will take a look.”
“No, it’s too dangerous.”
“We’ll be careful.” I helped her into the car. “Come on, Jack. We’d better check around the back of her house, just to put her mind at ease.”
Needless to say, there was no sign of a tiger or a cat of any size.
“It’s okay, Mrs Rollo,” I said, helping her out of the car. “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”
“Do you think we should call the authorities?” She looked around frantically.
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Let me take you back to your house.”
Once I’d seen her safely back inside, we set off.
When Jack pulled up at the toll bridge, I spotted Mr Ivers in the booth.
“I can’t pay the toll,” Jack said. “This idiot has got the window closed.”
Mr Ivers was behind the glass, frantically waving his hands, and mouthing something which I couldn’t make out.
“I’ll go and find out what’s wrong.” I got out of the car, and walked over to the booth. The window was still closed, and Mr Ivers was still making strange gestures as though he was clawing the glass.
“Open the window, Mr Ivers!” I shouted.
He shook his head, and mouthed the word ‘No’.
“What’s wrong? Is it stuck?”
“Tiger!” he shouted. “Over there!” He pointed to the bushes just beyond the ca
r.
On any other occasion, I would have dismissed his words without a second thought, but it was too much of a coincidence that Mrs Rollo, and now Mr Ivers, both claimed to have seen—aaargh! There it was, poking its head out of the bushes.
Jack chose that precise moment to open the car door, and was just about to get out, when the tiger began to run towards us. Instinctively, I pushed Jack back inside, and slammed the door closed. He looked at me through the glass as though I’d lost my mind, but I was more concerned with the tiger, which was now only feet away.
I cast the ‘sleep’ spell just in time, and the animal slid to a halt at my feet.
Jack climbed out of the car and looked down at the tiger in disbelief. “It’s a tiger.”
“No flies on you.”
“It’s a tiger.” Jack was transfixed.
“It looks like Mrs Rollo was right,” I said.
“How did you stop it?”
“I didn’t do anything. It just collapsed in a heap.”
Jack looked understandably confused. “It looks as though it’s been sedated.”
“Call the police, and get them to send someone to take it away before it wakes up.”
He got straight on his phone, and minutes later, a police car and a large van, with the name Dreamtime Circus on the side, came screeching to a halt on the other side of the barrier.
“Open up!” the policeman yelled.
I half expected Mr Ivers to demand the toll fee, but for once, common sense prevailed, and he raised the barrier.
Jack knew the policeman, so he filled him in on what had happened, although of course Jack couldn’t explain what had caused the tiger to pass out.
The four men from the circus managed to lift the animal into the back of the van, and then drove away. A few minutes later, the policeman left too.
“Apparently, it had escaped from a travelling circus,” Jack said. “The men in the van were already circling the area when I made the call. They can’t understand why it fell asleep.”
“Maybe it was the shock?” I suggested.
We were both back in the car, and Jack was just about to set off when the barrier came down. He lowered his window.
“That will be forty pence, please.” Mr Ivers held out his hand.
Despite the tiger-related setback, the drive out into the countryside was most enjoyable. Jack suggested that we should visit Duffing Park which is twenty miles to the south of Washbridge. Even though it was relatively close by, neither of us had been there before.
The huge car park was already three quarters full. We parked the car, and then followed the signs to a small lake, at the edge of which was a kiosk selling ‘specially prepared food for the birdlife’. If the price was anything to go by, the birds’ preferred diet must have consisted of gold dust and fragments of diamonds.
Armed with our bird food, we found a vacant bench close to the edge of the lake. Within a matter of minutes, dozens of hungry birds came waddling out of the water towards us.
Ducks, I quite like. Moorhens too. I find swans a little intimidating, but I’m prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt. But geese? Pure evil, much like clowns. They all seem to hate me, and I’m sure they can sense my fear. As soon as they made an appearance, I got up from the bench, and began to walk slowly backwards up the bank.
Top tip: Never turn your back on a goose.
“Where are you going, Jill?” Jack was still sitting on the bench.
“Nowhere. There’s a better view from up here.”
The geese were still pursuing me.
“You’re not afraid of the geese, are you?”
“Afraid?” I scoffed at the idea. “Of course not.”
“So why are you running away from them?”
“I’m not running. I’m just walking very quickly.”
Eventually, the geese got the message that they wouldn’t be getting any food from me, and went back to surround Jack, who seemed completely unfazed by the prospect of the killer geese. Weirdo!
Eventually, we moved on, and walked all the way around the lake. By the time we were done, I was exhausted, and relieved to find a café close to the wooded area of the park.
“Have you seen the prices in here?” I pointed to the menu.
“They’re not that bad,” Jack waved away my concern.
“I’m glad you think so because you’re paying.”
The café was absolutely heaving. There wasn’t a free table to be had, so we ended up having to sit outside on a bench. I’d no sooner started on my beans on toast than the geese reappeared.
“Get rid of these, will you, Jack?”
“I thought you weren’t scared of them?”
“I’m not. I just don’t want them flapping around while I’m trying to eat my beans on toast.”
He smirked, but then shooed the geese away.
After we’d finished, we walked through the wood, and eventually came to a clearing.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Jack said.
“What is?”
“Duffing Hall, of course.”
I leaned to one side. “It might be, but I can’t see it for that crumbling pile of stones.”
“That is Duffing Hall!”
“It doesn’t look much like a hall to me.”
“This is all that’s left of it. It dates back to the early thirteenth century.”
“Why don’t they just knock it down, and build something new?”
Jack looked at me in obvious disgust. “Knock it down? You really have no sense of history, do you?”
That wasn’t true. I might not be interested in two crumbling walls, but I had been very taken by my visit to CASS. Now, that was a building that had really captured my imagination. But, of course, I couldn’t tell Jack that.
“Jill! Are you with me?”
I’d been daydreaming. “Yes, sorry. Have you seen enough of these old stones?”
He shook his head in obvious despair.
We spent the best part of three hours at Duffing Park, and although there was very little to do, the weather made for a very pleasant afternoon. When we eventually got home, and Jack pulled onto the drive, he said, “Look over there!”
I followed his gaze, and saw a man walking down Megan’s drive.
“What’s that he’s covered in?” Jack said.
“It looks like paint. And eggs.”
“And, are those feathers?” Jack laughed. “It’s Harry.”
He was right; it was Henry Harry, and a sorry sight he looked. He walked past our car without making eye contact.
Then I heard the laughter.
Next door, leaning out of the upstairs windows, were Megan and Mad. They were both in hysterics.
Chapter 12
It was Monday morning, and I wasn’t scheduled to start work at Grover Import/Export until the afternoon. Jack’s accusation that I was apathetic when it came to history had got me thinking about CASS. That was one place whose history really did fascinate me. I wanted to find out as much about it as I possibly could, so I decided to start with Candlefield Library.
“Excuse me,” I said to the elderly librarian—a witch with long grey hair, and a rather questionable taste in two-pieces.
“Good morning, young lady. Aren’t you Jill Gooder?”
“I am, yes. I wonder if you could possibly point me in the direction of books about Candlefield Academy of Supernatural Studies?”
“CASS?” She stood up from her desk and grabbed a walking stick. “Unfortunately, we don’t have many books on CASS, but what we do have is over here.”
I followed her to the far side of the library to a small section headed ‘Candlefield History’.
“Up there.” She pointed. “Those are the only three books which we have on CASS. What exactly is it that you’re interested in?”
“The general history of the building, and particularly anything about the Wrongacre family who originally lived there.”
“I’m not sure these books will
be terribly helpful. If memory serves, I believe they focus more on the school itself rather than the building or the Wrongacre family. Still, feel free to browse.”
“Thank you very much.”
I grabbed the three books which she had pointed out, and found a quiet table where I could work my way through them. The first of the books was ‘A Pupil’s Guide to CASS’. The author, a Mitchell Michaels, had been a student at CASS some seventy years earlier. Although quite interesting, it was little more than a memoir of his time at the school, with advice for new pupils. The second book, ‘A Brief History of CASS’, by Linda Lockheart, was just that. A very brief history of CASS which barely touched upon the property’s original owners other than to say that the house and grounds had been donated by the Wrongacre family. The final book, ‘CASS – Famous Alumni’ by JD Belltower, gave a short biography of a number of so-called famous ex-pupils. All three volumes were interesting in their own way, but none of them provided the information I was hoping to find, and they included practically nothing on the Wrongacre family.
“Good morning, young lady.” The man’s voice made me jump. I turned around to find a wizard who was doubled over with extreme old age. “I’m Jeremiah Moleskin. I couldn’t help but notice your interest in CASS.”
“Yes. I was hoping to find out more about the history of the building, and in particular about the Wrongacre family.”
“You won’t find much information here in the library. If you’re really interested in CASS, then you should contact a witch by the name of Margaret Smallside. She’s something of an authority on the subject.”
“Where would I find her?”
“I can give you her address, if you wish?”
“Yes, please. That would be fantastic.”
He scribbled the address on a scrap of paper and handed it to me.
“Thank you very much.”
“Not at all. Tell Margaret that Jeremiah sends his regards, would you?”
“Of course.”
“There isn’t much about CASS that Margaret doesn’t know.”
***
I arrived at Grover Import/Export just in time for my afternoon shift. Tony was in Charles Grover’s office. The two of them were obviously busy working on something, so that gave me an opportunity to quiz Sarah about Tony. He had been very flirtatious with me even though I’d only been there a matter of days, and I wondered if that behaviour was typical of him.
