‘One incident occurred when US President Roosevelt went to the Amazon. The local guides had caught piranhas and hadn’t fed them for days, so when the cow was offered to the fish, they went into a feeding frenzy. Normally they travel in small schools and are happy with smaller creatures – even seeds.’
‘Yes,’ Gloom added with a serious frown. ‘And even though they’re not known to eat humans, I bet they wouldn’t say no if a delicious, fleshy body was offered up to them.’
Angeline and Edgar walked on while Dylan lagged behind, unable to remove the image in his mind of Gloom lowering his scrawny body to the small but hungry mouths of Herman and Daisy. His head felt light, his skin prickled, and the carpet began to waver beneath him. His head tilted and his body drifted to the side, bumping into a door, which instantly clicked open.
‘Aaahh!’ Dylan flung his arms out, hoping to grab onto something or at least cushion the impact of his inevitable crashing to the ground.
But he knew it was hopeless, given what he saw next.
The door had opened into a room with a hole cut into the floor just inside the entrance, a hole that Dylan now lay stretched across, with his toes only just over one edge and his fingers struggling to hold onto the other.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll save you.’ Angeline snuck inside, avoiding the hole. She held his wrists while Edgar stepped over Dylan’s feet, ready to hoist him up in the middle, and Gloom gripped him around his ankles.
‘When I count to three, we lift,’ Angeline instructed. ‘Ready?’
Gloom and Edgar nodded.
‘Please hurry.’ Dylan’s voice echoed into the open chasm beneath him.
‘One,’ Angeline began. ‘Two . . .’
‘Wait!’ Gloom fell back, clutching his leg. ‘I’ve got a cramp.’
‘I can’t hold on much longer,’ Dylan wheezed.
Gloom massaged his calf muscle. ‘My leg hasn’t been the same since it was almost severed in that poltergeist ambush.’
‘Pl . . . ease . . .’ Dylan could feel his fingers slipping.
‘It’s feeling better now.’ Gloom got back into position. ‘Whoa, cramps can be painful.’
Dylan gathered the last of his breath. ‘Hurrrrryyy.’
Angeline resumed. ‘One . . . two . . . three!’
They hoisted Dylan away from the hole and laid him gently on the floor. His breathing was fast and shallow. He reached into his pocket for a paper bag and held it to his mouth, blowing and inhaling deep breaths. After a few moments, he’d managed to calm down.
‘It’s incredible,’ Edgar marvelled, ‘just how by breathing in your own exhaled carbon dioxide, hyperventilation can be averted,’ Edgar marvelled.
‘And what is also incredible,’ Dylan panted, ‘is that this room has no floor!’
‘Yes.’ Angeline nodded as if it was a curious fact rather than a one-way ticket to certain death.
‘I thought having a floor was fundamental to being called a room.’
‘Not when you build an oubliette,’ Edgar shrugged.
‘An oubliette?’
‘It’s French for “forgotten place”.’
‘Why hasn’t it been covered over?’
‘The door is usually locked.’ Angeline frowned.
Gloom leant over so that Dylan could feel his breath against his cheek. ‘Oubliettes were often small, windowless rooms where unsuspecting enemies would be lured inside. They’d fall into the pit and, over a long period of time, go insane or perish. It would have been,’ Gloom paused for effect, ‘excruciating.’
‘Angeline? Edgar? Is that you?’ A voice wafted down the hall. ‘I thought I heard a scream.’
‘It’s Endora.’ Angeline jumped up. ‘Time to hear what she’s found out.’ She and Edgar leapt over the hole as if it was a game of hopscotch instead of a gaping, death-inducing cavity.
Gloom scratched his chin. ‘Strange that the door wasn’t locked.’
Dylan tried to squeeze his way past the groundsman, whose body was now crouched in the doorway. ‘Shouldn’t we go now?’
Gloom was lost in his thoughts. ‘Almost as strange as when the Ghost Club first took possession of this magnificent mansion and, after hearing a series of unexplained groans, broke down this very door to find a skeleton lying at the bottom of the oubliette. And even stranger was –’
‘Gloom! Woohoo!’ Endora poked her head of red fairy-floss hair into view, her gloved hands waving. She looked more dishevelled than usual with her glasses askew and hair a little fuzzy around the edges. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Fine and dandy,’ Gloom sang. ‘You know how Master Dylan loves a good tale and I just couldn’t resist obliging.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll be off. Have fun at the haunting.’ He whistled as he sauntered down the hall.
‘That Mr Gloom.’ Endora looked after him adoringly. ‘Always willing to help out any way he can.’
‘Help out?’ Dylan asked.
‘Oh my word, he’s one of the most generous men I know, but we could talk about Gloom’s magnanimous personality all day, couldn’t we?’
‘We could?’
‘Yes, but for now, we have a ghost to catch.’
As Endora headed to the Depository, Dylan stared back at Gloom. At that exact moment, the older man stopped and turned slightly, giving the boy a small, final wave.
[1](See Ghost Club Book 1: The New Kid)
The Depository was home to all the records and evidence of ghostly events as well as the museum of equipment used throughout the history of the Ghost Club. It was the investigative heart of the organisation and the home of Professor Endora Spright, who’d voluntarily cocooned herself in its dark, windowless surrounds for as long as Angeline and Edgar could remember.
Dylan followed Endora inside and his heart was calmed a little by the papery smell of books that lined the walls. He sidled up to Angeline. ‘Was there ever a human skeleton found at the bottom of the oubliette when the Ghost Club first took over this house?’
‘A skeleton?’ Angeline laughed. ‘There was a dead rat found once but nothing human. Why?’
‘Gloom told me there was.’
‘His stories keep getting better, don’t they?’
Dylan opened his mouth to object but was interrupted.
‘Here she is,’ Endora said, sitting in front of a large computer screen that displayed Edgar’s video of the young girl he had recorded the night before.
The jumpy footage began to play. The girl sat with her knees to her chest, weeping in the corner, while the background filled with the sounds of frightened children. The girl looked directly at the camera before standing and disappearing through the wall.
Endora shook her head. ‘Each time I watch this I can’t help wonder why she looks so very sad and haunted.’
‘She not only looks sad but when we were with her we felt an overwhelming sense of misery,’ Edgar explained. ‘Can we assume she is one of the girls from the boarding school?’
‘I believe we can.’ Endora scrolled the footage back to the beginning. She magnified the picture so that it zeroed in on the peter pan collar of the ghost’s nightie, where they could see a small insignia. ‘With the powerful magnification abilities of this computer, we can see the image in quite some detail. I have been doing some research and it’s a direct match with the Gravesend College emblem.’
Angeline frowned. ‘But that’s not our school’s emblem.’
‘Not now, but it used to be.’ Endora’s gloved hands clicked on the mouse to bring up a website. ‘Luckily for us, the Gravesend Historical Society has a very active membership that has kept records of all the town’s most important institutions and events. After a bit of research, I found this.’
She navigated her way through the website to a section on the schools i
n the area, including Gravesend College. Beside the name of the school was a shield crossed with two swords and a banner with the words ‘Honour and Loyalty’ flowing across the lower section. Endora’s voice was solemn. ‘It was changed after a very tragic incident.’
‘The murder,’ Angeline said.
‘There was a murder?’ Dylan asked.
‘Yes, of a young girl named Bridie Wallace.’
‘Is that why it’s called Bridie’s Forest?’ Angeline remembered.
‘Yes, they thought it would be a small tribute.’
‘But her death led to the boarding college being shut down,’ Angeline added.
‘It almost closed the entire school,’ Endora said. ‘The principal resigned, parents removed most of the children, and the student population dwindled to almost nothing. A new principal was hired, and through her dedication and hard work the school slowly built up again, but it took quite some time.’
‘Who did it?’ Dylan breathed, suddenly feeling a little uneasy in the dimly lit room. ‘I mean, who murdered Bridie?’
A strand of bright red hair fell in Endora’s face. She quickly pinned it back. ‘Excuse my appearance this morning, but I’ve been up all night investigating just that. After Angeline and Edgar sent me the footage and their report, I immediately requested access to the police case files, which Mr Gloom kindly went to collect for me. I’ve also been searching the State Library’s databank for archived newspaper reports about the incident.’
Her fingers flew over the computer keyboard and the screen filled with a photo of a stern, clean-shaven soldier.
‘From my initial investigations, it is generally believed that she died on December 23, 1925, at the hands of this man: Mr Robert Thompson, the school’s groundskeeper.’
‘So Lila was right?’ Angeline whispered.
Endora reached for a manila folder of police records and untied the string holding it closed. Her gloved fingers carefully withdrew a piece of paper. ‘This is the statement the principal gave the police. In it, she blames herself for what happened to Bridie. Despite people warning her not to, she took pity on Robert when he found it difficult to find a job after returning from the war. She also admits she knew he was troubled because –’
‘He was haunted by the ghosts of fellow soldiers in the boarding school,’ Edgar finished.
‘There are ghosts of soldiers as well as the girl?’ Dylan asked.
‘Robert Thompson believed so, but the principal thought it was the trauma of the war playing tricks on his mind.’
‘We also have the statements from three girls who were staying at the boarding house at the time. The incident happened during the Christmas holidays, and only the four girls were at the school while the others went home to their families.’
‘Weren’t there any adults with them?’ Angeline asked.
‘Yes, a few. There was Miss Annabelle Lloyd-Jones, the housemistress, but she was in the kitchen at the time of the murder, going over the details for the girls’ Christmas lunch. From her statement, the moment she and the cook heard the scream, they knew something terrible had happened. They were the first on the scene, but it was too late.’
Endora withdrew another piece of paper and read: ‘“When we arrived, there was nothing we could do but call the police and try to comfort the other distraught girls.”’ Endora looked up. ‘It must have been very distressing.’
‘What happened?’ Dylan could barely utter the words.
She slipped another statement from the folder.
‘This one is from Freya Saffron. She was the oldest of the girls, and it seemed she had the most to say.’ Endora read:
Witness statement from Freya Saffron, student, Gravesend Boarding College, 24 December 1925. Bridie, Mary, Elizabeth and I were in our dorm room reading and writing in our journals when we heard footsteps in the corridor and a man shouting angrily. We recognised it immediately as Mr Thompson. He forced the door open, swinging a crowbar and calling out names of other men. He had wild eyes and shouted, ‘I’m coming to get you.’ We managed to slip past him and run to the roof for safety. Mr Thompson followed, threatening that he was going to get us. I stood in front of the others to protect them and yelled at him to leave us alone – we hadn’t done anything wrong – but he yelled back, ‘Which one of you did it?’ I told him we hadn’t done anything, but he screamed that he knew one of us was guilty – and he was going to find out who. He came for us. We all ran in different directions, but then we heard Bridie scream. When we turned back, she was gone and Mr Thompson was standing at the edge of the building, looking down. We knew we were next. I still don’t know why, but he left us alone and raced down the stairs. We were safe, but our dear, beloved Bridie was gone forever.
‘They must have been terrified,’ Dylan said.
‘The rest of the statements certainly convey that.’ Endora flicked through the library databank and called up a newspaper.
Dylan read the headline: ‘Guilty!’
‘This article explains how Thompson had fled the school by the time the police arrived, and despite a wide search, was never seen again. They held the trial in his absence. Based on the evidence of staff, the three other boarders and several townspeople, he was convicted of murder. For a town already grieving for lost sons in the war, it came as a terrible shock.’
‘And that was that,’ Angeline said.
‘Not quite,’ Endora said. ‘Even though he was convicted of murder, the people of Gravesend were outraged that he wasn’t going to serve his prison term. The mayor is quoted as saying, “Only a true coward would commit such a crime and not stand to face his punishment.” Nothing like this had ever happened in this town before and, with the terrible stories they were starting to hear from returned soldiers and nurses, they didn’t want this kind of crime anywhere near them.’
Endora brought up an article and photo of a house on fire. Angeline read the headline: ‘Murderer’s House Ablaze.’
‘The townspeople wanted to make sure he never came back.’
The small group sat in a shocked silence, the table before them filled with statements and papers, while their heads filled with the sad story of Bridie Wallace.
‘Do you think Robert Thompson’s anger had anything to do with the medal?’
All three looked at Dylan as if he had just spoken Russian – which none of them could speak.
‘The medal?’ Endora asked.
‘Maybe she stole it from Robert Thompson and it made him angry or –’
‘What medal?’ Angeline frowned.
‘The one around her neck.’
Endora turned back to her computer and displayed the image of the girl from Edgar’s recording. All three of them leant closer to the screen. Endora enlarged the picture even further, focusing on the girl’s neck, and they saw the thin strand of ribbon poking out from under her hair.
Dylan pointed. ‘If you look at her hands, you can just make out the pointed edge of a medal – or at least, I think that’s what it might be.’
Endora zoomed in on the girl’s hands, and there it was: she was holding a medal.
‘You’re good.’ Angeline was impressed. ‘I’m usually the one who notices the details, but I’d never have seen that.’
‘I was very good at Where’s Wally? puzzles as a kid.’
‘Often what a ghost has with them when they appear had significant meaning for them while they were alive,’ Endora explained.
‘Is our ghost Bridie Wallace?’ Edgar asked Endora.
‘It does seem likely, but we need more conclusive proof. We know that she is from the college and, even though we don’t know the exact date we’re dealing with yet, it is certainly before the closing of the boarding school in 1925 when the old emblem was still in use. Bridie wouldn’t have been the only death during the years the boarding
school was open. Other girls would have died by misadventure, such as falling off a horse or getting lost in the woods, but it was also around this time that the Spanish Flu hit hard.’
‘The Spanish Flu?’ Dylan asked.
‘A pandemic that killed more people than World War I,’ Edgar explained. ‘There was even the poem:
I had a little bird,
Its name was Enza.
I opened the window,
And in-flu-enza.’
‘Yes,’ Endora agreed. ‘A cautionary poem to remind people to keep their windows closed to stop the infection spreading.’
‘So we need to do some more investigating to find out exactly who the girl is,’ Angeline said.
‘If we had access to the school archives, we could try to identify her from the student photos,’ Edgar suggested.
Endora smiled. ‘Which is exactly why my next step is a call to Principal Primm.’
‘’ll put you on speaker phone so you can hear,’ Endora said, ‘but it’s best not to let her know you’re here. We all know how adults can sometimes be very . . . resistant . . . to the idea of children being part of the club.’
Endora entered the number and waited.
‘Good morning, Miss Primm speaking. How may I help you?’ There was a cheeriness to her voice that gave nothing away about the previous night’s haunting that had sent her students and their parents home in a terrified tizz.
‘My name’s Endora Spright, Head of Spectral Research at the Depository from the Ghost Club. I’m calling about the –’
‘From where?’
‘The Ghost Club, and I’d like to discuss –’
‘Are you from the newspaper?’
‘No, I’m from a club that investigates paranormal activity and I –’
‘I’m sorry.’ Principal Primm’s voice was still cheery. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any problems with ghosts.’
‘Yes, but last night –’
‘Was the result of the overactive imaginations of a few children who think they saw a ghost.’
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