‘Wouldn’t it be better if we were quiet?’ Dylan searched for excuses not to hear any more of Gloom’s morbid poetry. ‘It’d be easier to hear the ghost that way.’
Edgar removed his boots and eagerly settled into his sleeping bag, keeping his Tracker in his hand. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for any spectral activity with this. It’s not every day we’re lucky enough to get our own personal poetry reading.’
‘And there’s always time for poetry.’ Gloom stood at the end of their beds. ‘And besides, it’d be my pleasure. I know you’re very professional and like to focus on the catch, but you deserve a little treat, especially as I know how much you love my poetry.’
Gloom brushed down his jacket and ran a hand through his silver hair. ‘This one is entitled “Uncle Roderick’s Advice For a Good Night’s Sleep,” by yours truly, Roderick Gloom.’
Before you go to sleep tonight
Tucked in cosy, warm and tight,
Some safety steps you need to take
It won’t take long – sleep can wait.
We must make sure that you’re secure:
Have you locked the gate and doors?
Have you checked the windows, too?
Even the small one in the loo?
And what about that loose floorboard
And the garage where those tools are stored
And that faulty latch on the veranda door –
Are you safe inside? Are you sure?
That shadow outside your window there,
Is it a werewolf, troll or bear?
So many things that stir at night
Just waiting to deliver a terrible fright.
What was that noise, that awful bump?
Like an axe into an old tree stump
Or was it the thud of a wooden leg?
Was it outside or right under your bed?
But wait!
I’m sure it’s my imagination
Causing all this needless tension.
Relax, I should, my doctor says
Ignore those thoughts inside my head.
Don’t you worry, I’m sure you’re fine –
Oh my goodness, look at the time.
Off I go, it’s very late,
Toodle doo, sweet dreams for you await!
Angeline and Edgar burst into instant and uproarious applause.
Dylan had stopped breathing somewhere around ‘werewolf’ – only he hadn’t realised until now.
Which is when he took in a huge gulp of air.
‘Yes, I know.’ Gloom smiled and waved his hand through the air. ‘It’s a good one. Sometimes I even surprise myself.’
When Dylan regained his breath, he asked, ‘Why are your poems and stories always, well, gloomy?’
‘Some of the greatest writers in history have written about gloomy subjects – Dickens, Poe, Snicket. Reading about people’s misfortunes and trials is much more interesting than how happy they are.’
‘It’s true,’ Angeline said. ‘If we were in a story right now, any minute something would have to go really wrong, because so far everything has been going pretty well.’
‘It has?’
Angeline nodded. ‘Happiness in life is good, but in stories it can actually be rather boring.’
‘I prefer it,’ Dylan said.
A terrified scream split the air. Dylan grabbed Angeline’s leg. ‘What was that?’
‘Someone’s in trouble,’ Gloom said.
‘No kidding.’ Dylan’s eyes widened.
Another scream.
‘Maybe it’s the soldiers come to terrorise us too.’
Gloom calmly pulled his Tracker from his pocket. ‘Maybe, but ghosts don’t tend to send texts.’
Dylan glared as he realised the scream came from the device in Gloom’s hand. ‘Your ringtone is a petrified scream?’ He gave Angeline a pointed look, but she shrugged like she couldn’t see the problem.
‘Yes,’ Gloom answered. ‘It reminds me that there are people all through the day and night who need our help, and we’re here to deliver.’
‘We do aim to serve,’ Edgar said earnestly.
‘That’s sweet.’ Angeline’s words only served to increase the frown etched on Dylan’s face.
‘Oh dear,’ Gloom read the message. ‘There’s been a spectral cluster on Highway Seven. Panicked motorists, car pile-ups, pandemonium.’
Dylan gulped. ‘Spectral cluster?’
‘They’re the worst kind. Doesn’t get more dangerous.’
‘Really?’
‘No, just kidding.’ Gloom shook his head. ‘Myra’s not feeling well and needs me to look after the desk at the club. Sorry I won’t have the continued pleasure of your company.’ He gathered his cape, looked to the window and announced with dramatic flair, ‘They say a savage beast roams these grounds: half-wolf, half-man. Stolen as a baby and raised by animals. Tore a man limb from limb.’
Angeline and Edgar clapped again. Gloom bowed and smiled. ‘Sleep tight, sweet ones!’
And with that, his polished shoes clipped across the dormitory and out the door.
Dylan stared at the others. ‘Jokes about spectral clusters? Screams for ringtones? Stories about man-eating monsters?’
‘Life is never dull with Gloom.’ Angeline yawned and snuggled further into her sleeping bag. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Would you mind getting the lights, Dylan?’ Edgar laid his Tracker on his satchel. ‘Goodnight.’
Goodnight? Dylan thought, his pulse tearing through his body, his breathing so short he wondered if he’d ever get to sleep again.
A lone howl rose into the night.
He ran to the door, switched off the lights and shot into his sleeping bag, pulling it up to his chin. A slight glimmer of moonlight dimly lit the room. Dylan searched every corner for any movement and listened for the smallest sound. His eyes followed the gnarled, wavering shadows of trees thrown across the walls, reaching out to him, scraping like claws against the window, trying to break in. His eyes widened further. ‘Half-man, half-wolf,’ he whispered.
Within minutes, Dylan could hear the long, peaceful breathing of Edgar and Angeline’s slumber. He tried as hard as he could to join them, but the more he tried the more wide awake he felt. He plunged deeper into his bag and shut his eyes tight. He tried counting sheep. He tried picturing himself lying on a beautiful island and floating in a hot air balloon across a cloudless sky. But nothing worked. He was still awake.
Then he saw it. At the door. A dark shadow, taking careful steps inside, not making a sound. It increased in size as it approached. Growing larger, its black, hulking figure capable of crushing them all in its bare hands. Dylan was sure of it. He had to warn Edgar and Angeline – he had to save them! Or at least call out and tell them they were all about to die.
But his voice caught in his throat. He couldn’t speak or move.
The black figure was almost upon them, when, strangled by the lack of air reaching his lungs, Dylan finally sat up and yelped, ‘Watch out! They’re coming to get us!’
Angeline and Edgar sprang from their sleeping bags. In one swift movement they’d delved into their Ghost Club satchels and were standing, feet wide apart, arms outstretched – one hand holding their torches, the other clutching Atomisers.
‘Who are you?’ Angeline’s voice was steady and calm – which was nothing like Dylan’s voice, which yelped as he struggled to unzip his sleeping bag that had twisted around him like a full-body straightjacket. Each panicked movement seemed to constrict him even further.
Angeline and Edgar’s torches lit up the blackened figure, whose face was buried beneath a drooping hood.
Dylan waddled and hopped in his sleeping bag, his elbows trapped and bulging, until finally, in
one last frustrated effort to free himself, he teetered backwards and stumbled, bottom-first, into a rubbish bin.
The figure burst into wild, boisterous laughter. It clutched its stomach and doubled over, struggling for breath.
‘I know that laugh.’ Angeline lowered her Atomiser and stepped closer.
‘No!’ Dylan struggled to free himself from the bin. ‘It’s too dangerous!’
Angeline flung back the intruder’s hood, beneath which was the ruddy, tear-stained face of Travis.
‘That was great!’ He wiped his eyes and continued laughing. ‘Why pay good money to go to the movies when you can get your entertainment here for nothing?’
‘You know this guy?’ Dylan asked.
‘Unfortunately, we do.’ Angeline crossed her arms.
‘No! It’s too dangerous,’ Travis mimicked. ‘Looks like you need to find yourself a new hero, Angeline.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was out for a walk, thought I’d pop in for a little haunting and make a quick exit, but not after seeing old funny boy here. That was priceless. Is he always this funny during your little ghost-huntings?’
‘It’s ghost-catching, not hunting,’ Edgar corrected.
‘Same thing.’
‘No.’ Edgar stood up to him. ‘It’s very different.’
Travis glared through his fringe. ‘It’s very weird is what it is. And what are they? Water pistols? Were you going to squirt me to death?’ He burst into renewed laughter.
‘Why are you even here?’ Angeline asked.
‘I followed you.’
‘How?’
Dylan wriggled. ‘I have a better question: can someone help me out of here?’
Travis ignored him. ‘I wanted to know if you were going to do more of your ghosting work, so I hid near your house until I saw you come home on your bikes. And – this is where it gets better – you were picked up by an old guy driving a hearse! I just had to find out where you were going in that.’
‘I’d really appreciate it if someone could help me out of here,’ Dylan pleaded again.
‘Who is he? Your own personal undertaker?’
‘His name,’ Edgar answered, ‘is Mr Gloom.’
Travis laughed again. ‘Gloom? You guys are priceless. Mr Gloomy, Miss Freak, Mr Brains and Bin Boy here – you should open your own circus. A freak show. You could charge an entrance fee and become millionaires.’
Edgar’s voice took on a harder edge. ‘We’re in the middle of an important call-out, so we’d appreciate it if you said your goodbyes and left.’
Travis’s mood switched from mockery to anger. ‘I’ll “say my goodbyes” when I’m good and ready.’ He poked Edgar in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards.
‘Don’t you touch my brother,’ Angeline cried.
Travis stepped slowly towards her. ‘Or what? What could you possibly do to scare me, Miss Freak?’
‘You leave her alone!’
Travis spun round to face Dylan. ‘And I’ll do what you say because . . . you’ll roll over me with your bin? I don’t think so.’ With a sneer firmly planted on his face, Travis kicked the bin with a grunt so that it tipped over and rolled into the wall, striking it with a heavy thump. Dylan’s eyes closed and his head slumped to the floor.
‘Dylan!’ Angeline ran to his side. She checked his head. There were no signs of blood and his chest was rising and falling with shallow breaths.
She stood and faced Travis. ‘That’s it! I –’
But before she could move, a rush of wind drove the door open, smashing it violently against the wall and throwing Edgar and Angeline to the floor.
‘What’s going on?’ Travis cried. ‘Where’s that . . . Hey!’ His head flicked to either side as his feet lifted from the floor and he slowly rose into the air.
But Angeline didn’t hear his cries. She shielded her eyes from the swirling gale and was staring directly at the faint image of Bridie Wallace.
‘There she is!’ she said to her brother. ‘Cameras.’
She and Edgar switched on the camera in their Ghost Club badges. Angeline scrambled to her bed for her Tracker. Edgar took a camera from its tripod and recorded the image of a pale schoolgirl in a high-collared nightdress whose attention was focused on the now-floating Travis.
‘Help! Get me down!’
Bridie stood still, arms by her side, eyes staring directly at Travis as he floated even higher so that he was now several metres from the ground. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Levitation,’ Edgar explained.
‘How is it happening?’
‘Spectres from the other side are not constrained by gravity in the way humans are, which means they have access to energy fields that are simply beyond human experience.’
‘What does that mean in English?’
‘In English, it means you’re floating.’
‘Bridie?’ Angeline spoke calmly. ‘My name’s Angeline and this is my brother, Edgar. We’re from the Ghost Club; we’ve been worried about you.’
‘Worried about who?’ Travis blustered. ‘What are you talking about? I’m scared of heights. And why do I feel so sad?’ He wiped his eyes. ‘I never cry – what’s going on?’
‘Bridie, we think something or someone has upset you and we’d like to help.’
The young ghost slowly turned from Travis to Angeline, who waited, almost holding her breath. This was the third time they’d seen Bridie, and they had to find a way to make her speak.
‘If you want to tell us what’s bothering you, we’re here to listen.’
‘Who are you talking to and why aren’t you getting me down?’ Travis blustered.
‘Can you be quiet?’ Angeline said.
‘Be quiet! I’m suspended in midair!’
‘It won’t be for long,’ Edgar explained. ‘Spectral entities have a tendency to become bored with levitation quite rapidly so, until then, I suggest you try to stay calm.’
‘Stay calm?’
‘You’re completely safe. If you’re not lowered soon, we have an alternative.’
‘Well, do it!’
‘If we get you down now,’ Angeline explained, ‘it’ll probably just upset her and you’ll be sent straight back up there. We’ve seen it before.’
‘Upset who? Get me down! Now!’
‘We will – after we deal with something more important.’ Edgar was trying to be patient.
‘I’m more important, so get me . . . Aaah!’
Travis was suddenly jolted higher. Bridie spun towards him and fixed him with a defiant stare.
Edgar looked at his Tracker. ‘The reading just intensified.’
Travis pointed at the image of a young girl who appeared below him. ‘Who . . . is . . . sh . . . she?’
‘Someone we’re trying to speak with,’ Angeline answered.
‘Is she doing this to me?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Edgar said.
‘Is she going to kill me?’
‘She’s not going to kill you,’ Angeline said.
‘How do you know?’
‘Ghosts rarely want to kill people. Scare them a little, maybe, but not kill them.’
A moment passed where Travis was quiet, trying to take in what Angeline had said. ‘She’s a . . . ghost?’
‘Yes, and if you don’t stop talking we’re never going to –’ Angeline didn’t need to explain anymore, because at that moment Travis passed out, dangling in the air like a limp puppet. ‘Maybe now we can concentrate.’
She turned back to Bridie, who had slipped to the ground and was sitting forlornly with her knees to her chest, just as they had first seen her. Angeline spoke softly. ‘Please, Bridie, we’re pretty good at this kind of thing. We’d really
like to help you, if you’ll let us.’
She waited a few moments before turning to Edgar and shrugging. ‘I don’t think she’s going to talk.’
‘You can do it.’ He smiled at his sister. ‘You’re an expert at paranormal communication, remember?’
A low groan sounded from behind them. ‘What happened?’ Dylan woke and rubbed his brow. ‘Why do I feel like my head’s been used for basketball practice?’
The twins rushed over.
‘Are you okay?’ Angeline asked.
‘I think so.’ He looked down. ‘Apart from the fact that I’m in a garbage bin, of course.’
‘I’m afraid you were knocked over, courtesy of Travis,’ Edgar said.
‘Travis?’
Angeline pointed to the ceiling where Travis was hovering above them.
‘Levitation,’ Dylan noted warily. ‘That means we have ghosts?’
‘Just one,’ Angeline said. ‘Over there.’
Dylan saw Bridie and began to sniff. ‘Sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying . . . I just feel so –’
‘Melancholy?’ Edgar said. ‘Bridie’s presence seems to induce that emotion.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘She is sad about something, and we still don’t know what. Let’s get you out of there and find out.’
With some effort, Angeline and Edgar helped Dylan out of the bin and unzipped his sleeping bag.
‘Thank you.’ Dylan eagerly slipped out. ‘What has she been saying?’
‘She won’t speak.’
‘Well, she is now.’ He pointed.
Angeline turned towards Bridie and saw her lips moving. ‘Quick, we might not have much time.’
They hurried across the dormitory, but Bridie’s image glistened and began to fade.
‘No, Bridie,’ Angeline said. ‘Please don’t go.’
But the young ghost’s image shimmered for a few more seconds before fading into nothingness.
‘Is she still in the building?’ Angeline asked.
Edgar called up a 3-D image of the building on his Tracker, desperately hoping he’d find her somewhere, when he came across a strong red glow. He looked up and smiled. ‘She’s in the attic.’
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