Ghosthunters and the Gruesome Invincible Lightning Ghost

by Cornelia Funke

  “Yuck!” groaned Tom. “Is that disgusting or what? I hope I’ll be able to get this stuff off later on!”

  Side by side, they stood in the doorway to the lounge. The hotel was filled with a deathly silence.

  “That GILIG seems to have been scared good and proper!” whispered Hetty Hyssop. “I’d never have thought we’d have to wait so long for it!”

  “It can take its time so far as I’m concerned,” Tom whispered back. But then he suddenly felt the room turning warm, very warm. As warm as an oven.

  “It’s coming!” cried Hetty Hyssop.

  And the GILIG came.

  11

  First of all the ceiling changed color. Soot tumbled down, and brown burn marks started to spread like ink on blotting paper. Then flames leaped across the walls and crept from all directions toward Tom and Hetty Hyssop like hideous animals. The elevator door sprang open and clouds of yellow smoke billowed out, acrid and stinking. Hastily the ghosthunters put on their nose clips — which was not easy with slimy fingers — and stared at the elevator.

  But the GILIG didn’t come out of the elevator. No: It burst from the ceiling. Glowing red and fiery, it fell down — and for the first time, the ghosthunters got a clear view of it. Its legs were short and squat and had difficulty carrying its plump body. Its arms hung down to its knees, and its vast head was stuck, neckless, between its hunched and crooked shoulders.

  “Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhh!” growled the GILIG, baring its teeth. It shook its fiery mane and looked around. Its gaze lingered on Tom and Hetty Hyssop.

  Tom’s legs wanted to run away, outside, just anywhere so long as it was away from the murderous heat and that terrible Lightning Ghost, which appeared to grow with every breath it took. But Tom stayed where he was. Just as he had promised. For he and Hetty were the bait that would lure the GILIG out onto the soft sand, where Hugo’s slime would force it to do the GILIG pirouette.

  Their plan seemed to work. The GILIG came stamping over to them. With its third step, one of its fiery toes trod in Hugo’s slime. Howling, it lifted up its foot, scratched itself like crazy, and, enraged, shot a jet of flame at Tom and Hetty Hyssop. They both ducked just in time.

  “Slimy greetings!” cried Tom. “Slimy greetings from our ASG!”

  “Sssshhhhsssshhhssshhhrrrrraaaaaa!” snarled the GILIG, and made a huge leap for the ghosthunters.

  “Come on!” cried Hetty Hyssop.

  Tom didn’t need a second invitation. Side by side they raced through the lounge, knocking over chairs and bumping into tables and flowerpots, until they were out on the veranda. Below them on the sand, shimmering a bluish white in the moonlight, Hugo was waiting for them.

  Out of breath and coughing from the smoke, Tom and Hetty Hyssop stumbled down the steps to the beach. They could already feel the GILIG’s hot breath on their necks, but they didn’t turn around until they were standing next to Hugo. Like a giant ball of fire, the GILIG sprang on its bowed legs from the veranda down onto the sand, right in the middle of the circle that Hugo had drawn with his shimmering slime. Snarling, it looked around, jumped from left to right and back again, and could find no way out.

  “Ha! So how do yoooooou like that, then?” mocked Hugo, stretching contentedly in the moonlight.

  The GILIG jumped around in the sand, bellowing. It jumped faster and faster until it was spinning like a top, howling hideously as it spun. And with every spin it became thinner and longer, until it was nothing but a twirling column of fire reaching ever higher into the sky.

  “Nearly!” whispered Hetty Hyssop. “We’ve nearly done it!”

  But then, all of a sudden, the GILIG braced its glowing arms in the air, slowed its twirling and howling, shriveled up again, and stopped with a jolt. It paused, unmoving, its back to the ghosthunters. Then it turned dark red, so dark red that only its silhouette was visible in the night.

  Hetty Hyssop pulled Tom a few steps backward, and even Hugo wasn’t floating quite so near to the Lightning Ghost now.

  They heard a faint growling, dark and threatening. Then the GILIG spun around, its mouth wide open, and with all its remaining strength blew at Hugo’s slimy trail. Its breath was as hot as liquid fire.

  Tom put his hands protectively in front of his face. His skin was burning, his eyes were running, and his hair was so hot that he thought it would catch fire at any moment. Hugo wobbled back, howling.

  “Watch out!” cried Hetty Hyssop. “It’s coming through!” The GILIG kept blowing, shriveling more and more as it did so. But Hugo’s slime was changing, too. It started hissing and steaming and then, quite suddenly, turned to ash.

  Horrified, Tom and Hetty Hyssop drew back until they were standing in the water.

  “We’re done for!” whispered Hetty Hyssop.

  By now, the GILIG was barely bigger than Tom — but it was free. And just a couple of feet away, the sea was lapping against the sand, glowing from the Lightning Ghost’s hot breath.

  “Juuuuust yooooouuuuu waaaaait!” it snarled. Smoking and stinking it sprang to the water, its fiery body diving into the waves. Then, like a jet of flame, it shot up into the black sky, higher and higher, until it was so massive that it blocked out the moon.

  “Grrrrraaaaaaaaaa!” it growled menacingly, and stretched out its flaming arms.

  The whole world seemed red and black, nothing more. But suddenly something green and shimmering appeared behind the GILIG’s left knee.

  “Hugo!” cried Tom. “Get away from there! Go on! Quickly!“

  But Hugo had no intention of going. He waved at Tom and Hetty and floated slowly up to the GILIG. Hetty Hyssop shook her head in disbelief.

  “It’ll vaporize him!” cried Tom in despair. “We have to do something!”

  But Hetty Hyssop just murmured, “That ASG has got something up his sleeve. But what?”

  The GILIG had meanwhile spotted Hugo, too. Taken aback, it peered down at him. Compared to the gigantic Lightning Ghost that stood there in the waves, blazing and still growing, Hugo looked like a white handkerchief being tossed around in the wind.

  “Aaaaah, AAAAASG!” roared the GILIG. “Iiiii’ll vaaaaapoooooriiiiizzzzeeeee yooooouuuuu! Thaaaaat’s whaaaaat Iiiii’ll dooooo!”

  It batted at Hugo with its fiery hands as if he were a pesky fly. But the ASG kept deftly evading it.

  Tom shuddered. The whole sea glowed bloodred in the GILIG’s ghostly light, and Hugo looked so terribly vulnerable, wobbling around those immense bowed legs. But he was evidently in the best of spirits.

  “Vapoooorize? Vapoooorize? Don’t make me laugh!” he cried hollowly, flying higher and higher, past the fiery fingers that were grabbing angrily at him, until he was floating right above the GILIG’s flaming mane.

  “Enjoy, yoooooou vile beast!” breathed Hugo. Then he spat on the gigantic ghost’s head. Right on the very middle of its head.

  “Aaaaaaaaaargh!” screeched the GILIG shrilly, inflating like a fiery hot-air balloon — and then bursting with a bang that shattered every window in the Seafront Hotel. Millions of blazing sparks rained down on the sea. Hugo was blown back to the beach, where he plopped down on the sand next to Tom.

  “Unbelievable!” breathed Tom.

  Red sparks were still raining down from the sky and the whole night sparkled as if someone had lit a giant firework. Hugo was looking a bit singed in places, but otherwise seemed to be in the very best of ghostly health.

  “So, how did I do?” he asked, inflating himself proudly.

  “I don’t get it!” cried Hetty Hyssop. “I just don’t get it. How did you know that your saliva would have such a catastrophic effect on that monster?”

  “Oh, that!” Hugo nonchalantly wobbled around in front of her nose. “It was obvious!”

  “Nothing was obvious!” cried Tom. “How did you know what to do?”

  Hugo grinned. “When yooooou told me all that stuff about the slime, it became clear. My spit is miles more slimy than my slime. Much stickier and all. Now do
you get it?”

  “You pesky ASG!” Hetty Hyssop gave Hugo a friendly dig in the wobbly ribs. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Because I like suuuuurprises!” cried Hugo, turning a somersault in the air. “And it was a pretty good suuuurprise, wasn’t it?”

  “Too right!” Tom sighed. “It almost killed me, your surprise. So just bear in mind next time that I don’t like surprises half as much as you do, OK?”

  “Spoilsport!” said Hugo, tapping Tom on the nose with an icy finger.

  Then the three ghosthunters made their way back to the hotel, tired and slightly singed, but very happy.

  12

  Tom was given the job of telling all the inhabitants of the wine cellar that the GILIG had had it. Their cries of joy were quite deafening. One of the chefs carried the youngest ghosthunter back to the foyer on his shoulders, and Alvin Bigshot declared that Hyssop & Co. would be lifetime guests of honor at his hotel.

  Then the rescued people all streamed out onto the beach, where little red sparks were still glimmering in the night air, to celebrate the success of the three ghosthunters by eating, drinking, dancing, and singing. Hugo was disgusted. He thought that large groups of singing humans sounded far more hideous than any ghostly howling. Tom thought so, too, and so the pair of them sat down on the sand slightly away from the noise and looked out to the sea, no longer red, where the moonlight was reflected in the waves like a silver path.

  Hetty Hyssop and Alvin Bigshot didn’t join in the celebrations, either. They took an inspection tour through the entire hotel, and confirmed that the Seafront really was ghost-free — apart from one tiny Fire Ghost, which they discovered in a mug and caught without any problems.

  Other than that, the hotel was in a pretty sorry state. The walls, the ceilings, the furniture: All were singed, sooty, and covered in ash. Many of the doorknobs and room numbers had melted, and no cleaning fluid in the world could have removed the GILIG’s footprints from the carpet.

  As they made their way back down in the badly damaged elevator, Alvin Bigshot burst into tears. The tears ran down his cheeks and dropped off his mustache.

  “I’m ruined!” he sobbed. “Completely ruined!”

  “Come, come, my dear chap,” said Hetty Hyssop, patting him sympathetically on the shoulder. “That’s no reason to go to pieces. You’re insured, aren’t you?”

  “Against ghosts?” sniveled the manager. “Of course not!”

  Hetty Hyssop shook her head. “That’s very remiss of you. All large buildings should be insured against ghosts. Large buildings are particularly attractive to all types of ghostly things!”

  “But I didn’t know!” moaned the manager. “How’s a normal person supposed to know that, I ask you?”

  The elevator door opened with a faint squeak, and the pair went out into the hotel foyer. The celebrations were still going on outside.

  “Shall we go out?” asked Hetty Hyssop.

  But Alvin Bigshot just shook his head sadly. “I don’t feel like celebrating!”

  “Fine, then let’s go to your office. I’ve got to lock up this thing, anyway!” Hetty Hyssop said, holding up the last captive Fire Ghost. She took the manager, who was quietly sobbing to himself, by the arm. “If you make us a cup of coffee,” she said, pulling him gently along with her, “I’ll tell you what we can do to save your hotel from ruin!”

  “Really?” Alvin Bigshot looked at her, astonished. “You mean you’ve got an idea?”

  “Oh yes, and I think it’s a good one, too,” said Hetty Hyssop.

  With a sigh Alvin Bigshot opened the office door.

  “Hello, Bigshottykins!” Hugo was sitting in the manager’s chair, resting his moldy green feet on the desk.

  “Come on, Hugo, get down,” said Tom. He was slumped in another chair, looking rather tired.

  “What are you two doing here?” asked Hetty Hyssop. “Didn’t you want to celebrate?”

  Tom shook his head and yawned.

  “Me neither!” said Hugo, and wobbled out of Alvin Bigshot’s seat. “People kept wanting to shake my hand and say thank yooooou. It made my fingers horribly warm. Disgusting!”

  Alvin Bigshot went to his coffee machine. “Dear Hetty Hyssop, would you mind telling me your idea?”

  “Of course.” Hetty Hyssop stuffed the Fire Ghost into the last empty thermos and sat on the edge of the desk. “Well, this is what I thought: You should just turn the Seafront Hotel into a ghost hotel!”

  The manager dropped his coffee filter in surprise. “A what?” he asked, shaking the grinds out of his shoe.

  “A ghost hotel,” repeated Hetty Hyssop. “Here’s what I had in mind: You save a fortune on the renovation costs by leaving the melted doorknobs and numbers as they are. I’d also leave the footprints on the carpet; that sort of thing’s very effective. Oh, and I wouldn’t even bother clearing the soot and ashes away in some of the rooms, because these could be the five-star Fire Ghost Suites: Genuine ghostliness guaranteed!”

  “I get it!” Alvin Bigshot tugged excitedly at his mustache. “Yes, I get it — please continue!”

  Hetty Hyssop smiled. “With great pleasure. Next you engage the services of a few harmless ghosts as waiters in the dining room. I’d recommend COHAGs (COmpletely HArmless Ghosts). A good friend of mine runs a ghost employment agency, and I’m sure he’d be glad to help you out. And finally, you could ask our dear Hugo here if he wouldn’t mind dropping in for a weekend every now and then to produce some nocturnal spookery. He’s the perfect ghost for that kind of job!”

  Flattered, Hugo turned purple. “I’d be delighted, in return for a comfy little spot in the cellar!”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” said Tom.

  “Not a bad idea?” cried Alvin Bigshot. “Not a bad idea? It’s a brilliant idea! However can I thank you, my dear, dear Mrs. Hyssop?” He flung his arms around her neck.

  “No thanks necessary, Alvin,” said Hetty Hyssop, gently disentangling herself from his embrace. “I’m just glad that things have turned out so well. Though we almost forgot something!”

  The others looked at her in surprise.

  “Your guests!” Hetty Hyssop gesticulated at the seven flasks. “We’ve still got to turn them back into humans!”

  “But can it be done?” asked the manager, astonished.

  “Oh yes. It’s not all that easy, and it takes quite a while, but it works fine. We need cotton balls, peppermint-flavored icing, and a good dose of patience. I’d say —” she looked around “— that as there’s no way we’ll sleep, anyway, we might as well get it done now. What do you think, gentlemen?”

  13

  Hugo wasn’t keen to help with the deghosting. He felt that he’d already worked hard enough to last him at least a hundred years, and wobbled off to find himself a comfy little spot in the cellar where he could dream of his heroic deeds.

  The other three got straight to work. Alvin Bigshot gathered all the ingredients they needed, while Tom and Hetty Hyssop covered his desk in newspaper. Icing is, after all, pretty sticky stuff.

  “Ready?” asked Hetty Hyssop, putting on her oven gloves.

  “Ready,” said Tom and Alvin Bigshot. They likewise put on their gloves, and then they each took a thermos.

  The ghosts, cooled in dry ice, seemed extremely sleepy. They only fidgeted a bit when they were pulled out of their prisons.

  Tom held his ghost right up to his eyes. “I think I spy Mrs. Redmond,” he remarked. “Ow! She bit my finger!”

  “Yes, yes!” said Alvin Bigshot with a little smile. “Mrs. Redmond always was rather… how should I put it? Inclined to be snappy!”

  Cautiously, Bigshot inspected the ghost wriggling in his hand. “Oh, and I’ve clearly got Doctor Stickybeak, the ear, nose, and throat specialist!”

  “And who have I got?” Hetty Hyssop stuck her Fire Ghost under his nose.

  “That’s Miss Amanda Petalpottle, a quite charming elderly lady, though she doesn’t look it at the moment!”


  “Right, then,” said Hetty Hyssop, dipping a clutch of cotton balls into a large bowl filled to the brim with icing. “First we have to daub icing on the back of the head and shoulders. It’s better not to do the face, because peppermint oil stings the eyes. Then we need to coat the trunk and arms, then the legs last of all. Needless to say, you don’t have to cover every square inch with icing, but the layer needs to be quite thick!”

  “And what happens when the ghost is all coated?” asked the manager, coating Doctor Stickybeak from head to toe in icing.

  “Then,” said Hetty Hyssop, “we put him on the desk. The sugar stops him from floating off, and in four to five hours — so, by dawn — he’ll have turned back into a human again.”

  “Most interesting,” murmured Alvin Bigshot, putting the doctor, who was looking pretty furious, next to the aquarium. “I must say, I’m glad I wasn’t turned into a Fire Ghost!”

  Tom had finished with Mrs. Redmond, too, and put her next to the iced doctor.

  Thus they dealt with Mr. Oswald Autocue, a famous television personality, Mrs. Hammerstein and her son Wolfgang, who almost burned off the tip of Hetty Hyssop’s nose, and Mr. Fotheringay-Popplescrunch, who was by all accounts such an unpleasant guest that Alvin Bigshot would have preferred to have left him in the thermos.

  When, finally, all the captive Fire Ghosts were iced and sitting on the desk, Tom and Hetty Hyssop felt so tired that they decided to put their heads down after all. The manager was extremely sorry that he couldn’t offer them each an undamaged bed, but he made up two very comfortable lounge chairs, complete with woolen blankets and pillows, which the two ghosthunters took with them into the room next to his office.

  Meanwhile, Alvin Bigshot went out to see his guests and staff, who were still celebrating on the beach.