Grandmaster Fleischmann warmly shook Mr Gloom’s hand, and Gloom blushed under the attention of his adoring fans.
‘Thank you, Mr Gloom. It’s not every paranormal organisation that can boast its own real-life poet.’
Gloom limped down the stairs. He sat beside the boy, took out his whetstone and went back to sharpening his axe.
Schick, schick, schick . . .
‘And now,’ Grandmaster Fleischmann said, ‘to our very special announcement.’
The whetstone scraped across the axe. Mr Gloom smiled and held up the blade, examining its sharpened edge.
Edgar peeked between the heads in front of him to see the new boy edging away from Gloom to perch on the very edge of his seat. ‘Maybe he doesn’t like Gloom’s axe sharpening.’
‘That’s crazy,’ Angeline said. ‘It’s just an axe.’
‘Dear Ghost Club members,’ Fleischmann continued. ‘It is with enormous pleasure that I give you . . .’
The boy stood up as if he was about to make a run for it. He swayed momentarily, struggling for air, his chest rising and falling in short bursts. His eyes began to flutter and his shoulders slumped. He reached out, as though grasping for something to hold onto, something to steady himself. Instead, his hand clutched the tablecloth and he fell to the floor, taking an avalanche of cupcakes with him.
The boy opened his eyes to see a crush of worried faces surrounding him. His legs were held in the air and his tie had been loosened.
‘What happened?’ he whispered, the mound of squashed cupcakes beneath him.
‘Vasovagal syncope,’ Edgar answered. ‘A momentary loss of consciousness brought about by stress to your body’s nervous system, which caused your blood pressure to drop and you to end up down there.’
The boy frowned.
‘He means you fainted,’ Angeline explained.
‘Why?’
A shiny blade waved in front of his face. ‘We don’t know.’ Gloom was at his side. ‘One minute I’m sharpening this, next you’re on the floor.’
Grandmaster Fleischmann took the boy’s icing-covered hand in his. ‘Are you okay, Dylan?’
‘Yes, of course, Grandpa.’ Dylan attempted to rise, squelching in the sludge of cream and cake.
Angeline and Edgar swapped looks. ‘Grandpa?’ Angeline mouthed.
‘If I could just get up . . .’
‘It’s best if you remain where you are,’ Edgar said. ‘To allow the blood to flow back to your head.’
There was a long pause, until Gloom had an idea: ‘I could read another poem.’
Heads nodded eagerly but Dylan wasn’t so sure. ‘Actually, I think I’m feeling much better . . .’
‘Edgar’s right,’ Grandmaster Fleischmann said. ‘You need to stay where you are, so we’ll just have to complete the ceremony here. Ladies and gentlemen, our newest recruit, Dylan Fleischmann.’
There was a boisterous round of applause.
‘While we allow Dylan a few moments to recover,’ the Grandmaster continued, ‘I think it a fitting time to pay tribute to our last junior recruits, Angeline and Edgar Usher.’ Instant cheers rang out, along with a hearty, ‘Go Edgar and Angeline!’
‘Since their induction, they have rid the world of over one hundred and thirty-two pesky poltergeists and paranormal perturbations while carrying out their duties with the utmost professionalism, bringing great pride to the hearts of all their fellow Ghost Club members.’
‘Hear hear!’ Grandma Rose led another rousing round of applause. Arthur Usher began to cry. Edgar handed him a hanky.
‘Being a member of the Ghost Club is a great and proud honour. It isn’t everyone who has the ability to detect ghosts. It takes a certain awareness of things beyond the earthly sphere to be a truly great catcher. Yes, we have devices to help, but unless you are in tune with the spectral level of existence, you can never be truly great as a catcher.’
Dylan tried again to get up. ‘Grandpa, I think I –’
‘When I first noticed Dylan’s recognition of the paranormal, it was like meeting Angeline and Edgar all over again. The High Council of Grandmasters assessed Dylan and unanimously voted to approve his membership.’ Fleischmann looked down at his grandson. ‘Once Dylan begins his training in the art of ghost-catching, I believe he will be one of the best. And now, it’s over to Myra.’
The faces surrounding Dylan became small beacons of delight, except for Myra’s, which never did.
She pushed back the flowing sleeves of her cloak, raised her clipboard and intoned with as much energy as a slowly deflating balloon, ‘I would like to invite Dylan Fleischmann to recite the Ghost Club’s Oath of Honour.’
‘Grandpa,’ Dylan whispered, ‘is there any way I can do this standing?’
‘You’ll be fine, my boy.’ Fleischmann’s voice cracked a little. ‘This is a very proud moment for us all.’
Dylan sighed and, knowing there was no alternative, lifted his cake-covered hand to his chest and began: ‘I, Dylan Fleischmann, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the duties of the Ghost Club and will, to the best of my ability, promise to defend all citizens against unwanted paranormal activity while preserving and protecting the honour of the club. No ectoplasm will be too disgusting; no ghost will be too . . . too . . .’
He paused. The audience leant forward in silent anticipation.
Dylan took another deep breath. ‘Terrifying.’
There was a collective sigh of relief.
‘And . . . no haunted mansion will be too intimidating as I strive to never give up and to carry out my duties with dedication and pride in the name of the Ghost Club.’
This time the applause was tumultuous. The audience straightened, hugging each other and shaking hands.
Myra held out a red ribbon with a gold Ghost Club medallion. Dylan lifted his head from a cushion of crumbled cakes and Grandmaster Fleischmann, eyes welling with tears, took the medallion and placed it around Dylan’s neck.
‘And in order to begin his training as an official Ghost Club member, Dylan will be partnered with Angeline and Edgar.’
The other members congratulated Fleischmann and Dylan before falling into a loud retelling of their own induction ceremonies and best ghost-catching tales.
Edgar held his hand out to Dylan. ‘I’m Edgar and this is my sister, Angeline. Looks like we’ll be working together.’
Dylan wiped his palm on a small patch of clean jacket and shook Edgar’s hand. ‘Are you sure you want to?’
‘Definitely!’ Angeline said. ‘Up until now, we’ve been the only kids in the club.’
‘Do you feel okay?’ Edgar asked.
‘Apart from lying on a soggy bed of cake and wishing I was someone else, I feel fine.’
‘You certainly know how to make an entrance.’ Angeline picked up one of her dad’s squished cupcakes.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Dylan said. ‘It’s not a very good beginning, is it?’
‘Are you kidding? You’ve only been a member for two minutes and you may have already saved someone’s life.’ She threw the cake over her shoulder. ‘Let’s get you up.’
They slowly helped Dylan to his feet. The crowd started fussing and asking questions: ‘Are you okay? Have you broken anything? Should we call a doctor?’
Dylan’s stomach lurched in the face of so much attention and he did all he could to keep standing. ‘I’m fine now. Really.’
‘That’s my boy.’ Dylan’s grandfather smiled proudly. ‘And while the rest of us get on with the business of the day, it’s time for you to become acquainted with some of the finer aspects of being a ghost catcher.’
The relief on Dylan’s face at being able to leave the crowded room was soon replaced with a look of horror by what Fleischmann said next.
‘Mr Gloom, would you show them to the Depository?’
‘It’d be my pleasure, sir,’ Gloom replied, tucking the axe into its holster.
‘Wouldn’t it be better if I cleaned myself up first?’ Dylan asked.
‘Never mind about that.’ Gloom pulled a stack of serviettes from a table nearby and said in a low whisper, ‘You’ll face a whole lot worse now that you’re part of the team.’
Dylan’s throat tightened and he let loose a high-pitched giggle.
Angeline noticed her dad looking down at one of his squashed cakes. She squeezed through the scramble of bodies. ‘Sorry about your cakes.’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter,’ said Arthur, doing a bad job of hiding that it did matter. ‘Great news about Dylan. It’ll be good for you two to have someone your own age to work with.’ Arthur kissed his daughter on the head. ‘Now, go teach our newest ghost catcher how it’s done.’
Angeline turned and hurried into the grand foyer, where the others were waiting for her.
‘Ah, there you are,’ said Gloom. ‘Ready to guide our newest recruit through the world of the dead?’
‘Can’t wait!’ Angeline’s excitement was not in any way mirrored by Dylan.
Gloom rubbed his hands together in glee. ‘Onwards we go.’ He turned to the wide set of marble stairs, again favouring his right leg as he climbed with a slight limp.
‘Great poem, Gloom,’ Angeline said.
The older man waved his hand. ‘Oh, it was just something I scribbled down. Poetry is one way we can reveal the world’s beauty.’
Dylan spluttered into a coughing fit. Edgar slapped him on the back. ‘Are you okay? What’s wrong?’
‘Just something caught in my throat,’ he wheezed.
Gloom turned and stopped, his grizzled face only centimetres from Dylan’s. ‘Make sure you don’t choke.’ He stared at the boy for an uncomfortably long time before adding with a smile, ‘This way.’
At the top of the stairs he turned towards the east wing of the mansion and entered a dim carpeted corridor lined with portraits, each gently lit from above.
‘Here we have our Hall of Dedication, a tribute to some of our most famous Ghost Club members. Elvira Entwhistle drove out the notoriously difficult ghosts of Carmargue Castle, and Daniel O’Dooley managed to finally evict the headless spectre of Bleaksville Cottage, while only just avoiding losing his own head. And this, of course, is –’
‘Grandpa,’ Dylan said quietly.
‘Yes.’ Gloom smiled. ‘Grandmaster Fleischmann. A little younger than he is now but one of the club’s finest members. Over eight hundred and forty-two catchings, many on his own and using methods no other ghost catcher had ever used before. In the Chillingly Castle investigation, he’d tried all the equipment we had to detect and identify a ghost, but she was proving to be particularly stubborn. One evening, he simply left a note asking who she was. Finding it very hard to sleep through the cold night, he got up to find that she had answered. A simple but ingenious method. He was a pioneer in that way, a true and fearless genius. In his first catching, he eradicated a ghost from a house who’d been frightening the owners for weeks with its moaning and pyrokinetics.’
‘Pyrokinetics?’ Dylan asked.
‘Fire-starting,’ Edgar explained. ‘Things bursting into flames.’
‘Oh yes,’ Dylan remembered. ‘Grandpa mentioned that. Is it common?’
Angeline shrugged. ‘Depends on the ghost.’
‘Grandmaster Fleischmann doesn’t work in the field anymore, of course,’ Gloom continued. ‘He’s too busy coordinating catchings, advising on international committees and keeping up with the latest ghostly activities and gadgetry across the world.’
He leant down to Dylan so that his axe dangled from its holster and swung between them. ‘You have a lot to live up to, young man.’
He examined a few more portraits before stopping. ‘And here we have some of my personal favourites. Charles Dickens, author of many great works including A Christmas Carol – masterly bit of ghostly storytelling, that one.’ Gloom straightened dramatically, his eyes suddenly drenched with fear. He held his fist against his chest and boomed, ‘Ghost of the Future, I fear you more than any spectre I have seen.’
Angeline and Edgar clapped. Gloom bowed. Dylan had to remind himself to keep breathing.
‘One of my favourite lines.’ Gloom moved to another portrait. ‘Another master storyteller, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who penned, among other things –’
‘Sherlock Holmes,’ Dylan breathed. ‘They’re some of my favourite books.’
‘Both authors were firm believers of what we do. Doyle was also a believer in spirit photography.’
‘Spirit photography?’ Dylan asked.
‘The capturing of ghosts in photos. Ghosts were such a fascination for many people in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries that it led to the Spiritualist movement for those bewitched by the idea of contacting people who had died and proving their existence beyond the grave.’
Dylan shifted uneasily. ‘They didn’t just want to collect stamps or learn pottery?’
‘You’ve got a good sense of humour.’ Gloom smiled, until his face drooped into a portrait of seriousness. ‘It is a very proud honour you have been given, Master Dylan. Without the Ghost Club, the world would be swarming with all manner of unwanted spectral trouble. The club is like the police department or garbage collectors, keeping the streets safe and clean. Ghost catchers face terror on a daily basis, confronting the worst that the paranormal world has to throw at them.’ He leant in and whispered, ‘And dealing with those who aren’t happy to rest in peace.’
‘Aaah!’ Dylan flinched as Gloom’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder.
‘And now you’re part of that tradition.’ Gloom fixed him with a serious eye. ‘Don’t you just want to cry out with excitement?’
‘It is exciting,’ Angeline said. ‘Especially when you put it like that.’
Dylan, it had to be said, didn’t seem as excited as everyone thought he should be.
Angeline and Edgar perused the paintings further along the hall. Dylan was about to follow when Gloom’s arm shot out. ‘You see that?’ He pointed to a worn iron ring protruding from the floor. ‘And the claw marks? That dark splodge that looks like dried blood?’
Dylan nodded.
‘There was a young boy, not unlike you, who lived with his great-aunt in this house. She was forced to look after him when his parents were killed by a herd of hippos while out on a nature walk.’
‘Hippos?’
‘I know they look loveable, but they can be especially nasty if you get between them and their calves.’ Gloom shook his head. ‘The aunt never liked the boy – thought he was a skinny, weedy thing.’
Dylan tried to puff his chest up so he didn’t look so puny. ‘Really?’
‘She kept a close eye on him during the day, but by night she chained a cheetah outside his door. The fastest land animal on earth.’
‘Woohoo!’ A woman in white gloves waved at them from an open door. She had a hive of wispy red hair perched on her head like an overfed cat, with one pair of glasses tucked inside, another balanced on the end her nose and two pairs hanging around her neck.
‘Endora!’ Angeline and Edgar rushed towards her.
Dylan went to follow but Gloom laid a hand on his arm. His voice took on a raspy edge. ‘Would you like to know what happened to the boy?’
Dylan felt his heart trying to escape from his chest. ‘No.’
Gloom went on regardless. ‘One day the boy had had enough. He soundlessly crept out the door and was almost away when a floorboard beneath him creaked. The cheetah instantly awoke and pounced so that –’
‘Gloom!’ Endora called from down the hall. ‘There’s so much to show Dylan – we real
ly must get started without delay.’
‘Sorry, Endora,’ Gloom cheerfully cried. ‘Dylan insisted on another story, and you know how I can’t resist a good telling.’
As Dylan’s head filled with ways to escape from this eerie man and his tales of terror, a small hairy leg poked out of Gloom’s jacket pocket, followed by another and another, until the many-eyed face of a tarantula was staring at him.
Dylan’s breathing didn’t even bother to become strained this time. It simply stopped.
‘Master Dylan?’ Gloom leant closer, meaning the tarantula was now only millimetres from Dylan’s blood-drained face. ‘Is something wrong? You’ve gone as pale as –’
‘Spi . . . You have . . . There’s . . .’ Dylan’s shivering hand pointed to Gloom’s pocket.
‘Ahhh.’ Gloom smiled. ‘Gertrude. I was wondering when you were going to make an appearance.’ He gently coaxed the spider into his hands.
‘You have a pet spider?
‘Tarantula, to be exact. She’s very friendly, unless you’re a male spider – then she may kill you and eat you after you’ve mated.’ Gloom laughed. ‘But seeing as you’re a human, you’re safe.’
‘You keep spiders?’
‘Among other pets. I have a menagerie of beautiful animals: centipedes, axolotls, stick insects.’
‘You’ve never thought of owning a dog?’
‘I like dogs but there are some animals that are overlooked because people are afraid of them or think they’re ugly. I’ve always enjoyed the more unique aspects of life.’ He lifted the arachnid to Dylan’s face. ‘You want to hold her?’
‘No!’
The others turned when they heard Dylan shout.
‘Anything wrong, Gloom?’ Endora asked.
‘There’s just so much to talk about.’ Gloom laughed. He slipped Gertrude into his pocket and trundled to the others.
Dylan, disoriented in the low light and not a little freaked out, lifted his foot to follow but the toe of his shoe caught in the iron ring and he fell forward. Reaching out for something to stop his fall, he grabbed hold of the doorhandle of the room where the boy had been imprisoned. It instantly opened. Instead of finding himself in a bedroom, the door swung over nothing but a plunging descent into the dark night. Dylan held on tightly, clinging to the handle while he dangled high above the icy, black waters of the Ghost Club moat.
Ghost Club 1 Page 3
