by Becket
THE GHOST
THE BUTTONS
AND THE MAGIC OF HALLOWEEN
written by
BECKET
illustrations by
RAVEN QUINN
Copyright © 2015 by Becket
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1-941240-26-7
ISBN-13: 978-1-941240-26-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the creators’ imagination or are used fictitiously.
Under copyright law, if you are not the copyright owner of this work, you are forbidden to reproduce, create derivative works based on this work, download, distribute copies of the work, decompile this work without Becket’s express written permission.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
The Buttons
CHAPTER TWO
The Haunted House
CHAPTER THREE
The Cursed Kitchen
CHAPTER FOUR
The Puck Postal Service
CHAPTER FIVE
Mr. Fuddlebee the Elderly Ghost
CHAPTER SIX
Baffling Mr. and Mrs. Button
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mr. Fuddlebee’s Unusual Onbrella
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Odd Door
CHAPTER NINE
Gates the Zombie Cyber Girl
CHAPTER TEN
The Goblin Diner
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Halloween Hollow
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Candle Lighthouse
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Elizabeth Sasquatch
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Duchess of Dusk & the Credoroom
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Gideon Gizmo the Mechmage
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
After Meal Potions & A Mad Motherboard
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Living Darkness
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Flood of Darkness
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Berkeley Saves Everyone
CHAPTER TWENTY
DIOS Comforts
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Protection Spell
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Darkness
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Trick-or-Treat Street
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Macabre Manor
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Candy Cloud
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Home of the Heart Box
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Heart of Halloween
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Magic Word & The Pumpkin Armor
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Helm Room
CHAPTER THIRTY
Defeating the Darkness
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Runaway Manor
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Floating House Day
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Halloween Managers
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Mettle, Magic, & Mischief
Preview of Meredith and the Magic Library
Other Books by Becket
Biographies
CHAPTER ONE
The Buttons
The Button family was the most peculiar bunch of mortals you might ever meet. There was Mr. Button the dad and Mrs. Button the mom. They were the most important people in town. They had the best parties, served the best food, and they even had their own parade float.
Then there were the three Button children.
Bernard Button was the oldest and bravest. By nine years old he was very good at all sports and thinking games like chess. He won first place all the time and had a trophy case full of shiny trophies of all shapes and sizes. Yet he also liked to wear a helmet and carry a sword, and imagine that he was a Knight of the Round Table, or fighting a dragon, or defeating the dark forces of the world. He had what you might call mettle.
The second oldest was Beatrice Button. By seven years old she was the smartest girl in school. She could read before she spoke, and she had a photographic memory, never forgetting a word she read. She loved to be in the library, yet she was also very good with computers. She could build them and repair them. And she was already getting offers to go to famous colleges. She had what you might call magic.
The youngest was the toddler, Berkeley Button. He was two years old and he did not yet speak. He had stopped crawling, and he was only just learning to run, but mostly he toddled around the house. His mind was so special that he could make things float just by thinking about them. If visitors happened to see the couch, the dinner table, or the fish tank floating through the air, it was not a ghost, but Berkeley using the power of his mind. He was always causing mischief.
Last of all, there was the nanny, but she quits her job in the next chapter because, unlike the Button family, she was terrified of ghosts.
CHAPTER TWO
The Haunted House
The Button family had a lovely house in the Garden District in New Orleans.
New Orleans is a magical town. It is one of the oldest cities in the United States, and the oldest part of the city is called the French Quarter, where musicians play wonderful music in its old cobblestone streets, where people are always dancing, and where you can have the best food in the world, like gumbo and jambalaya and fried alligator tail. It is a city that celebrates all the time.
The Garden District is New Orleans’s loveliest neighborhood. You can hear the streetcars rolling by every day, dinging their bright brass bells. You can have delicious meals in neighborhood restaurants, like in Europe. You can stroll through Audubon Park, where friends and families are walking dogs, sunning, jogging, barbequing, or catching butterflies in the spring or fireflies on summer evenings. And days before Mardi Gras, you can go out to see the Krewe of the Orpheus Parade throwing brilliantly colored beads. The sun never shines too hot on the Garden District because the old oak trees with their thick, leafy branches make a cool canopy over St. Charles Avenue.
Yet the Garden District is also the most haunted place in the world. There are many old and creaky houses. And in most of those old creaky houses there are ghosts moving from room to room, looking through old photo albums and trying to remember things they forgot. Many ghosts are very nice. But some are very hungry. So beware.
The Button family lived in one of those spooky old houses on St. Charles Avenue. They were not afraid of the strange creaking, cracking, moaning, groaning, growling noises in the dark. They were used to it. Those kinds of noises had been going on ever since the Button children could remember.
But the Buttons never could keep a nanny for long.
All the nannies they ever had were utterly terrified of the noises in the nighttime. At the slightest knock they leaped out of their shoes. At the tiniest squeak they screamed like banshees.
“Oh, don’t be so afraid,” Mr. Button grumbled at them dismissively.
“It’s probably just old pipes,” Mrs. Button asserted.
Mr. and Mrs. Button had an explanation for everything. They called themselves very sensible people. In fact they often said that if common sense were common cents, they would be the wealthiest family in the world.
But one night, the moaning sounds coming out from under the beds got really loud. Their latest nanny had not had a good night’s sleep in months. She nearly lost her mind when she saw a black hand reach out from under her bed and snatch her foot. Her screams woke the whole neighborhood. And soon after that she quit h
er job, once again leaving the Buttons without a nanny.
“Nothing frightens me more than taking care of children,” Mrs. Button said to Mr. Button.
“And cleaning,” Mr. Button replied.
“And cooking,” Mrs. Button added.
“Tell me,” Mr. Button said, “do our children eat dry food or wet food, like cats?”
“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Button answered, biting her nails nervously. “Perhaps we should take them to a vet and find out. How many times a day should they be walked?”
CHAPTER THREE
The Cursed Kitchen
The two parents were up all night worrying about what to do. The next morning they were much more tired and confused than usual.
Mr. Button looped his necktie around his head and Mrs. Button was wearing two left shoes. They walked into the kitchen, and neither of them had any idea how to make breakfast.
“Do we put butter in the toaster first?” Mr. Button asked. “I do like buttery toast, you know.”
“I know, I know,” Mrs. Button answered, “but I’m more worried about all these small doors overhead.”
“I think they’re called cabinets,” he answered.
“Cabinets,” she said in awe. “What a funny word. It sounds like something cabdrivers wear over their hair. Do little people live in them?”
“In hairnets?”
“No, in the cabinets.”
“I think plates and glasses are in them.”
“Eyeglasses?”
“It could be drinking glasses. But I could be mistaken. Maybe we should open them and find out, though I confess the thought of doing so gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
It was a good thing the three Button children came into the kitchen at that time. Bernard Button, Beatrice Button, and Berkeley Button found their parents trying to shove a whole turkey into the microwave.
The seven-year-old, Beatrice, stepped forward.
“The nanny showed us how to make pancakes and coffee. Shall we make some for you?”
Mr. Button looked at his right wrist.
“Egad! My watch is gone. That nanny must have stolen it.”
“Father,” the nine-year-old, Bernard said, “you put your watch on the wrong hand.”
“Ah! So I have,” Mr. Button said, looking more confused.
The toddler, Berkeley, used the power of his mind to make his father’s watch float to his other hand.
“Look at the time!” exclaimed Mr. Button. “I’ll be late for work.”
Mrs. Button shook her head worriedly.
“What ever shall we do about a new nanny? I’ll be late too to my EGGs—you know, the Elite Gossip Gals. We’ll be gathering soon, and the hot topic for today is Mrs. Crankle’s new wig.”
“Mommy,” Beatrice spoke up, “we could call an agency.”
“A gossip agency?” her mother asked eagerly.
“No,” Bernard said, “the nanny agency.”
“We have called them,” Mr. Button growled. “We’ve called them lots of things—like late, lazy, loony, snoopy, loopy, lumpy, clunky, monkey, and funky. But they have not yet responded, except with something called a summons.”
“That was the nineteenth nanny we’ve had,” cried Mrs. Button. “They won’t send anymore.”
The Buttons stood in the kitchen, wondering what to do. Mr. Button and Mrs. Button were talking about launching their kids to school out of a really big cannon. Bernard and Beatrice were trying to tell their parents that they were old enough to walk to school by themselves. And the toddler Berkeley was on the floor, using the power of his mind to make cookies float into his mouth for breakfast.
Suddenly they all heard a knock at the front door.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Puck Postal Service
The knock on the front door came again.
“Oh, I do hope that’s the agency!” yipped Mrs. Button in a hopeful tone, even though no one had contacted it. She dashed out of the kitchen, follow by Mr. Button who was adjusting the tie around his forehead.
Bernard, Beatrice, and Berkeley Button followed next. They were not too surprised to find Mrs. Button trying to figure out how to open the front door.
“Jiggling doesn’t work,” she said.
“Try kicking it,” suggested Mr. Button.
The three Button children opened the door. They expected to see a salesman or a neighbor wanting to borrow sugar. But they saw no one. It was as if a ghost had knocked.
Beatrice was just starting to say, “Who knocked on the—” when they all heard a gruff little voice speaking far below.
The three Button children looked down and saw a very tiny person standing on the welcome mat. Person? No, he was not quite a person. He was about the size of a dragonfly, and he had long dragonfly wings too. He also wore a top hat, tall boots, and a long coat. And on his coat was a patch with shimmering letters.
PUCK POSTAL SERVICE
The well-dressed little man with dragonfly wings was none other than a puck postman. He took a letter out of his coat pocket, cleared his throat, and began reading it to them.
“It has come to the attention of the Society of Mystical Creatures that your domicile possesses an occurrence that has been hereby deemed an odd and odious kerfuffle. Therefore, an agent of SPOOK has been dispatched to your services and will be here forthwith.”
The puck postman put the letter back inside his coat pocket and started to fly away.
Mr. and Mrs. Button came to the door and gazed at the little postman. They were more confused about what he said than what he looked like.
“I have no idea with any of those words mean,” Mrs. Button declared.
“Read it again,” Mr. Button demanded.
“And be sure to sprinkle in lots of context clues,” Mrs. Button added.
But the puck postman held up his tiny hand.
“I am sorry, but this is a no-reply postal delivery. If you would like to send a reply, you will have to go through the proper SPOOK channels, preferably through scuttlecom, though I would avoid using the telemonium unless you want your living room bursting into flames.”
Mrs. Button’s mouth hung open. “I understood less that time,” she murmured.
The puck postman flapped his wings and flew a little ways into the air, but Bernard reached out and caught him.
“Unhand me, you villain!” the puck shouted. “This is completely unlawful. You’ll be hearing from my leprechaun lawyer.”
“Forgive me,” Bernard said. “I don’t mean to frighten you, and I will let you go, just answer me one question first.”
“Unhand me now and I’ll think about it,” the puck postman huffed.
Bernard let him go.
The puck hovered in the air, brushing his coat with great indignation.
“It took me all morning to iron out the wrinkles. Now look at it,” he grumbled, eyeing Bernard with intense dislike. “Well, go on then, ask your question.”
But before Bernard could ask, Beatrice stepped before him and interjected, “You said an agent of SPOOK is coming. What is SPOOK?”
“It is the Subcommittee Preventing Oddly Odious Kerfuffles,” the puck answered.
“More baffling words!” shouted Mr. Button, who had torn out the little patch of hair he had left.
“What’s a kur-fiffle?” Mrs. Button asked.
“Mommy,” said Beatrice, who never forgot a word, “a kerfuffle is what happens when an argument becomes a fuss.”
The puck turned and flew away.
“You’ve got the answer to your question,” he said as he left, “and I’ve got my rounds of posts to deliver.”
“Wait,” Bernard said. “I have not asked my question yet. You said something is happening in our house. Do you know what it is?”
But the puck postman did not hear him. He had already flown away up into the thick oak trees, and was gone.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mr. Fuddlebee the Elderly Ghost
Mr. and Mrs. Button went back to the k
itchen and made a breakfast of frozen waffles and ketchup.
Bernard, Beatrice, and Berkeley stayed in the living room, kneeling on the sofa, watching through the large front window that looked out onto St. Charles Avenue. They expected the SPOOK agent to come any moment, even though they still did not quite understand what SPOOK was, or what an agent might look like. The three Button children were turning their heads left and right, looking up and down St. Charles Avenue for another Mystical Creature. It could be a puck, or maybe this time it might be a fairy, or perhaps a brownie, or an ogre, or perhaps a dwarf or an elf or something fay and fantastic!
“It could be anything,” Bernard said excitedly. He would not let himself blink. He did not want to miss a thing.
“Wait!” exclaimed Beatrice. She pointed up into the trees. “What is that?”
