Ghostly Holler-Day

by Daren King

  ‘It isn’t real magic,’ Tabitha said.

  ‘Oh, I’m quite sure it is real,’ Agatha said breezily. ‘At least, I like to think so.’

  ‘It’s all done with misdirection and sleight of hand,’ Tabitha explained.

  ‘And mirrors,’ Pamela said. ‘And lengths of cable with trumpets on the end.’

  ‘I have to say,’ Tabitha said, glancing down at her knees, ‘I think Charlie might be right. Whether the magician uses real magic or skills, or, um, dangling trumpets, it’s difficult to imagine such a talented ghosty dropping a head by mistake.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I thought,’ I said, straightening my trilby.

  ‘And if he had gone to fetch the head,’ Tabitha said, ‘wouldn’t he be back by now?’

  16

  Velvet Trousers

  Wither could find his own way out, but unless we rescued Leslie’s head, it would spend several years rolling around in the dust – sneezing, due to Leslie’s dust allergy – while the rest of him wandered in circles.

  ‘It won’t budge,’ said Humphrey Bump. He was trying to shift the lever so that we could float down the trapdoor, but he kept bouncing off.

  Us ghosties can wisp through a hole the size of a moth’s nostril, and I can pass through, but it’s preferable to have a bit of elbow room, if you know what I mean, and for breakfast that morning Humphrey had eaten twelve plates of chips.

  Not only that, but the trapdoor would have let in some light.

  ‘The magician must have jammed the lever,’ Agatha said, ‘using magic.’

  ‘Or sleight of hand,’ said Tabitha.

  ‘There’s nothing else for it,’ Pamela said with a gulp. ‘We will have to wisp into the darkness.’

  ‘Let’s not be hasty,’ Tabitha said. ‘There has to be another way down.’

  ‘Tabitha,’ I said after a quick nose around, ‘I’ve found a door, and a staircase leading downwards.’

  The trapdoor was situated in the centre of the stage, like I said, but the door was at the back, tucked away behind the curtain. I’d found the door by doffing my hat and passing through the curtain, and I knew there was a staircase behind the door because I’d passed through the wood.

  ‘We could wisp under the door,’ Pamela said, ‘but that would be no better than wisping through a gap in the floorboards. Tabitha, you must use your skills.’

  ‘All right,’ Tabitha said, ‘but do allow me a little privacy. You know how shy I am.’

  Agatha, Pamela, Humphrey and myself faced the other way, and we heard this curtainwoosh sound and a clicky-clicky turning sound, and when we looked back, the curtain had been drawn to the side and the door swung on its hinges.

  ‘Bravo, bravo,’ Agatha said, clapping her ivory hands.

  ‘Really,’ Tabitha said, ‘it was nothing.’

  ‘I doubt this will take us below the stage,’ Pamela said. ‘The stairs lead off to the side.’

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ said Tabitha. ‘Show us the way, Charlie.’

  ‘Um, ladies first,’ I said, hiding behind my trilby.

  ‘After you, Charlie Vapour,’ Agatha said.

  ‘I suppose it’s up to me,’ said Tabitha Tumbly, but just as she was about to wisp off, my hat toppled from my head and sailed down the staircase.

  ‘Tabitha, you did that with your powers, so I’d have to float down and fetch it.’

  ‘With my limited skills?’ Tabitha said with a smile.

  ‘You’d better fetch your hat,’ Pamela said, ‘before the magician nabs it.’

  I adjusted my cufflinks and floated down into the darkness.

  Then, I floated back up. ‘My bald patch is cold,’ I said, and Humphrey laughed.

  ‘Get on with it,’ Agatha said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Pamela said, ‘we should all float down together. It’s less frightening that way.’

  So the four of us joined hands and floated through the doorway and down the staircase, myself, then Tabitha, Pamela and Agatha, with Humphrey Bump bumping along at the rear, to the carpeted hallway at the bottom.

  ‘It’s not creepy at all,’ said Pamela. ‘Well, perhaps a little.’

  The hallway was lined with seven doors, and one of the doors had been painted with a gold star.

  ‘They’re dressing rooms,’ said Agatha. ‘These are the rooms where the Victorian performers would rehearse their lines, apply make-up and prepare to tread the boards.’

  ‘The room with the gold star will be the star’s dressing room,’ Tabitha said. ‘Every show has a star, and the star would demand the grandest dressing room of all.’

  ‘Then this,’ I said, straightening my tie, ‘is where we will find the magician.’

  The moment I mouthed that final word, the door with the gold star creaked open, and an eerie purple light illuminated the dim hallway.

  ‘Purple is The Great Conjuro’s favourite colour,’ said Agatha. ‘I read that in a magazine.’

  ‘Is he in there?’ Pamela said, cowering behind Humphrey.

  ‘I can’t see anything with that purple light,’ I said, but as I floated towards the dressing room door the light faded, and the interior of the dressing room wafted into view.

  And there he sat, the mean-spirited magician in the purple cape and the black top hat.

  ‘He’s seen us,’ I said, floating backwards. ‘Perhaps we should wisp off.’

  ‘But what about Leslie’s head?’ said Agatha. ‘I say, where is Leslie?’

  ‘The last time I saw him,’ Pamela said, ‘he was caught up in the stage curtain. I thought it best to leave him where he was.’

  We all floated forwards and peered into the room. The Great Conjuro was sat on a chair, staring at his reflection in a mirror framed with bone-white light bulbs.

  ‘I say,’ Pamela said, ‘the magician is awfully tall, even when seated.’

  ‘I bet he’s sitting on a plump cushion with tassels,’ Agatha said. ‘The Great Conjuro has frightfully good taste.’

  ‘One way to find out,’ I said. ‘Agatha, waft the magician’s cape with a ghostly draft.’

  Agatha sighed. ‘If only I had the required skill set.’

  ‘This is no time for false modesty,’ Tabitha said. ‘The magician is sitting on something, and I think I can guess what it is.’

  ‘Avert your gaze, then,’ Agatha said.

  We all closed our eyes – or pretended to – while Agatha rustled up an eerie breeze, and the magician’s cape floated to one side and came to rest hooked over the back of the chair.

  The Great Conjuro was not sat on a plump cushion with tassels as Agatha had thought. Wedged between the seat of the magician’s velvet trousers and the chair was Leslie’s head.

  ‘Leslie!’ I called in a loud whisper. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘A tad squished,’ Leslie said. ‘Perhaps you could rescue me?’

  Just as I was about to reply, The Great Conjuro fixed me with a magical gaze, tugging at the curve of his handlebar moustache.

  We all floated back in horror, and tumbled about in the hallway.

  ‘What a frightful predicament,’ Agatha said. ‘Poor Leslie.’

  ‘I hope the magician is wearing clean underpants,’ said Humphrey Bump.

  17

  Alfie Spectre

  We were about to float back into the room when a door opened at the far end of the corridor. And who do you think floated out? None other than my old mate Alfie Spectre.

  ‘Alfie! I thought you’d been nabbed.’

  ‘I heard you had a spot of bother with The Great Conjuro,’ Alfie said with a grin, ‘so I floated over to see if I can help you out.’

  I explained to Alfie that the magician had nabbed Leslie’s head.

  ‘The other week,’ Alfie said, ‘The Great Conjuro nabbed my mum’s ghostly kitten.’

  ‘What happened to the dear little thing?’ Agatha asked, clutching her pearls.

  ‘I gave the magician a gold ring, and he handed the kitten back unharmed.’


  ‘Alfie buys and sells jewellery,’ I explained. ‘Watches, rings, that sort of thing.’

  Tabitha coughed into the back of her hand. ‘Where are your manners, Charlie?’

  ‘Oh, right,’ I said, straightening my tie. ‘Alfie, these are my ghostly friends, Tabitha, Agatha, Pamela and Humphrey.’

  ‘Charlie,’ Tabitha said, ‘perhaps you could give the magician a ring in exchange for Leslie’s head.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Agatha said. ‘There’s always an answer if you put your heads together. No pun intended.’

  ‘A ghostly head would cost you a lot more than a ring,’ Alfie said. ‘Unless the ring was highly valuable, of course.’

  ‘I doubt we possess anything of high value,’ Agatha said. ‘Well, only my pearls—’

  ‘And these,’ I said, and I opened my jacket so the ghosties could see the half-dozen gold watches pinned to the lining. ‘I bought these watches from Alfie during the night.’

  Alfie scratched his head in thought. ‘Charlie,’ he said, ‘those watches are exactly the sort of thing the magician would swap for a ghostly head.’

  ‘How do you know so much about The Great Conjuro?’ Humphrey asked, giving the boy a friendly bump.

  ‘Oh, um. I must have read it somewhere.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ Leslie’s head called out from the magician’s dressing room. ‘Just give the magician the watches and take me back to my body.’

  To my relief, the moment I floated into the dressing room with my jacket open, The Great Conjuro smiled a twinkly, enigmatic smile and held out a white-gloved hand. I gave him the watches and flitted off.

  ‘Charlie,’ Tabitha said when I reached the doorway, ‘I think you may have forgotten something.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘It’s nerves, see.’

  Agatha rustled up a friendly breeze and blew me back into the dressing room.

  ‘Erm, excuse me,’ I said, holding my hat to my chest, ‘I am sorry to trouble you, but I wonder if you will allow me the courtesy of – what I mean to say is – would you mind awfully—’

  ‘Yes?’ the magician boomed.

  ‘Can we have our head back?’

  ‘Certainly,’ he replied, and immediately vanished in a puff of purple smoke.

  So that was that. The Great Conjuro had wafted off, leaving us frightfully friendly ghosties to return the head to its rightful owner.

  It wasn’t until we floated up the stairs and untangled poor Leslie from the curtains at the back of the stage, that we remembered poor Withaniel.

  ‘We could have given the magician Wither’s pocket watch,’ Agatha said, holding the head in her elegant hands. ‘That antique timepiece of his must be worth more than those six gold watches put together.’

  ‘I say,’ Agatha said, ‘where is Wither?’

  ‘He must still be down the trapdoor,’ said Pamela.

  Then we heard a muffled voice that seemed to come from the pocket of Alfie’s army jacket. ‘I never knew you were a ventriloquist, Alfie,’ I said.

  But Alfie looked as surprised as us lot.

  ‘That sounded like Wither’s voice,’ Tabitha said. ‘Alfie, I think you’d better unbutton your pocket.’

  As Alfie unfastened the button, the flap flapped open and out wisped a certain Victorian poet.

  ‘Wither,’ Tabitha said, ‘what were you doing in the pocket of Alfie’s army jacket?’

  ‘I didn’t know it was Alfie’s when I wisped into the pocket,’ Wither said. ‘The jacket was hung on a hook in one of the dressing rooms. I flitted into the pocket to hide from the magician.’

  ‘Alfie likes to make himself at home,’ I said with a wink. ‘Ain’t that right, Alfie?’

  But Alfie just gazed down at his shoes.

  ‘Alfred,’ Wither said, ‘it is time you returned Charlie’s six gold watches.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Alfie said, blushing a ghostly whitish red.

  ‘You, Alfred,’ Wither said, folding his bony arms, ‘are a cheeky, lying rascal.’ He pointed a wobbly finger at Alfie. ‘This young man is in business with the magician. The Great Conjuro is nothing more than a great con artist.’

  ‘Surely not,’ Agatha gasped.

  ‘Not only that, but Alfie here is his accomplice.’

  Alfie held up his hands, protesting his innocence, but then he floated backwards and tripped over a heavy object caught up in the curtains. Tabitha parted the curtains using her skills, revealing an ornate wooden chest.

  ‘Whatever is in that chest,’ Alfie said, ‘I don’t know nothing about it.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Wither said. ‘I may be going deaf in my old age, but I could hear every word from that pocket.’

  ‘What did you hear?’ Tabitha asked him.

  ‘Conversations between Alfred and the magician. It seems that the pesky pair have been working this scam for months.’

  ‘And how does this scam work, Wither?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘Wither,’ I said, ‘I think we should hear this from Alfie.’

  ‘All right,’ Alfie said. ‘I’ll come clean.’

  And we gathered round and listened to what Alfie Spectre had to say.

  ‘I sell the victim an item of value. Then, The Great Conjuro kidnaps a friend of theirs, and I tell the victim that the only way to save their friend is to offer the magician something of value in exchange.’

  ‘And the victim gives the magician whatever it was you sold them,’ Tabitha said.

  Alfie grinned. ‘I get to keep the goods and the victim’s money.’

  ‘That sounds like a lot of work,’ I said. ‘Most criminals simply pick the victim’s pockets, or break into their home and steal their ghostly television.’

  ‘I’d end up in prison for that,’ Alfie said. ‘With this scam, the police would think I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s the magician who does the nabbing, and no ghostly police force can arrest a magician.’

  ‘The moment The Great Conjuro hears the jangle of handcuffs,’ Agatha cried, clapping her hands, ‘he will vanish in a puff of purple smoke!’

  ‘Alfie,’ Pamela said, ‘what you and the magician have done is wrong. You didn’t just steal Charlie’s money. You stole our ghostly holler-day.’

  ‘I was worried about you, Alfie,’ I said. ‘I really thought you’d been nabbed.’

  ‘One further question,’ Tabitha said to Alfie Spectre. ‘You’ve told us what you get out of this con trick. But what’s in it for The Great Conjuro?’

  ‘I guess he just likes nabbing people,’ Alfie said, and he wisped off.

  ‘You should flit after him,’ Humphrey said.

  ‘He’ll be on the other side of the pier by now,’ I said, tidying my trilby. ‘Alfie can out-wisp the best of them.’

  ‘Thanks awfully,’ Leslie’s head said as Agatha returned it to Leslie’s shoulders.

  ‘Let’s find the way out,’ I said, ‘and float off home.’

  ‘Aren’t we forgetting something?’ Wither said. He floated towards the chest, flexed his bony fingers and opened the ornate wooden lid.

  The chest was filled to the brim with watches, necklaces, bracelets and rings.

  ‘We must return these items to their rightful owners,’ Tabitha said.

  ‘You will do no such thing,’ a cannonball voice boomed, and we all flitted round.

  There, floating above the orchestra pit, was that great con artist The Great Conjuro, with Alfie Spectre tucked beneath one arm.

  ‘We thought we’d seen the last of you, Alfie,’ I said.

  ‘Me and Cedric have had a chat,’ Alfie said.

  ‘Cedric is my real name,’ the magician explained. ‘The Great Conjuro is a stage name.’

  ‘We’d never have guessed,’ smirked Humphrey Bump.

  ‘The boy Alfie has made me see sense,’ Cedric said. ‘What Alfred and I have done is wrong, and, much as I enjoy the odd nab, we intend to mend our ways and return the valuable items to their owners.’


  ‘We’d like to help,’ Agatha said, and she fluttered her elegant eyelashes. ‘That is, if you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Alfie said, ‘we’re not going to wisp off and keep the items for ourselves.’

  ‘Oh, we do believe you,’ Tabitha said, ‘but we really would like to help, wouldn’t we, ghosties?’

  ‘How frightfully friendly,’ the magician said, and he beamed a magnificent smile.

  AN INTERVIEW WITH DAREN KING

  Who is your favourite ghostie?

  Charlie Vapour. Like me, he’s dapper and he looks good in a trilby.

  Where do you normally write your stories?

  At the funfair, on the rollercoaster. When it’s raining I write at home.

  What is your favourite colour?

  Orange. No, blue. Wait … no, red. Definitely red.

  Are you scared of the dark?

  I find darkness comforting. It’s like a warm, soft duvet.

  Have you ever seen a ghost?

  I’ve seen hundreds of ghosts, and all were frightfully friendly.

  Where do you get your ideas from?

  Most of my ideas come from conversations. If you talk about fun things with your friends, you will have fun ideas.

  What is the worst job you’ve ever had?

  I used to work as a secret agent. I was terrible at it. The problem was, I just can’t keep a secret.

  AN INTERVIEW WITH DAVID ROBERTS

  Who is your favourite ghostie?

  My favourite ghostie to draw is Rusty Chains because of his clanking chains and his miserable face.

  Where do you normally write your stories?

  I have always loved drawing. When I was very small my favourite things to draw were ladies wearing big dresses.

  What is your favourite colour?

  My favourite colour is grey because there are so many different shades. My second favourite colour is yellow.

  Are you scared of the dark?

  I thought I wasn’t scared of the dark until last year in the Welsh countryside; there were no street lights and I had to walk through woods to get to my holiday cottage. It was so dark I could not even see my feet. There were creepy sounds all around me and I was TERRIFIED.