Edgar nodded. ‘We’ve got quite a few.’
‘But you’re ghost catchers,’ Dylan argued. ‘Why don’t you get rid of them?’
Angeline frowned. ‘We only catch ghosts for people who don’t want them around. No one here minds them at all.’
‘No one?’
‘Our grandma says people are often scared by what’s on the other side, but they’re in more danger crossing the street or slipping in the bath than meeting a ghost.’
‘But how come –’
‘Uh-oh, incoming,’ Angeline said.
A wretched scream erupted from down the corridor, where a pale vision in a long coat, white gown and wild, silver hair was hurtling towards them.
‘Duck!’ Angeline cried.
She and Edgar threw themselves to the floor.
But Dylan remained standing. Frozen. His whole body moulded into a statue of terror.
And the ghoulish spectre sped straight for him.
‘| mean now!’ Angeline pulled Dylan to the ground just as the white spectre flew over their heads, her cackling laugh tearing through the air.
‘What should we do?’ Dylan mumbled into the floor. ‘Are we going to die?’
‘She’s never been a great driver,’ Edgar said, ‘especially when she gets excited, but she hasn’t killed anyone yet.’
‘You know her?’ Dylan managed to plaster a brand-new version of terror on his face.
‘Have done all our lives. I’ve never seen her quite like this, though.’
‘She can get carried away,’ Angeline added. ‘It’s best if we stay down.’
The apparition made a swift turn at the end of the hall, as though she was riding an invisible wave, before she levelled out and charged them.
‘She’s coming at us again.’ Dylan covered his head with his arms.
The vision increased speed, drawing closer and closer, until she pulled up before them like a rider rearing back on a horse’s hind legs. In slow motion, she lowered gently to the floor.
‘Please don’t kill us,’ Dylan begged while Edgar and Angeline jumped to their feet.
‘I’d sooner eat my own head. And what are you doing looking down? Have you missed all my moves?’
Dylan looked up to see two black boots only inches away from his nose. Above him stood the white vision. She wore a pair of goggles on top of her head, a lab coat, and in front of her was a dark, square object with handlebars on either side hung from a harness strapped around her waist and shoulders.
‘I’m Edgar and Angeline’s Grandma Rose. Chief of the Spectorium, sometime inventor and controller of all the ghost-catching equipment, as well as head of Gravesend Amateur Acting Society.’
She extended a hand as Dylan dragged himself to his feet. ‘You’re not . . . a ghost?’
‘Not yet. Unless there’s something someone’s not telling me.’
‘It’s okay – she’s real,’ Angeline whispered.
Dylan carefully reached out and was relieved when he felt the very three-dimensional and human hand of Grandma Rose. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Is that a new piece of equipment?’ Angeline pointed to the device her grandmother was wearing.
‘This, madame and messieurs, is the Ghost Rider.’ She beamed. ‘For years we’ve been faced with the problem that most ghosts can move much faster than us mere mortals, so we’ve been searching for a way to keep up. And now it’s here. Arrived today from Transylvania – those Transylvanians really know their ghost gear. I just had to test it out, and it goes like a demon.’ She looked at Dylan. ‘Want to try?’
‘No!’ he shouted before calming. ‘I mean, no thanks. Maybe later?’
‘I will,’ Angeline volunteered. ‘How does it work?’
‘That’s my girl!’ Grandma Rose slipped the harness over her granddaughter’s head. ‘Think of it as a flying motorbike. These two handles shoot out from the sides when you press this button on the front. To put them away, you simply press them in with both hands. To start, you turn this key at the side, which lights up the control panel. It tells you how much battery power you have and how fast you’re going. Most importantly, it has a camera display with infrared capability to help you see in the dark and record ghosts who may not necessarily want to be seen. To go faster, you twist the handles forward. To slow down, you twist backwards. Lean either left or right to turn. It takes a bit of getting used to at first, but once she gets going she’s a beauty. So hang on tight!’
Angeline turned the key and slowly rotated the handle, and the engine within the black box purred to life. Turning a little more, it gently lifted her from the ground. ‘I am not going to want to come down.’
‘The battery only lasts two hours, so you’ll have to come down eventually.’ Grandma Rose waved her fingers. ‘Fly carefully.’
Angeline twisted the handles a little more; the harness tugged against her shoulders and back as she was slowly pulled through the air. She gave one last cheeky grin before wrenching the handles sharply forward – and she was off! The Ghost Rider sped into action and the floor blurred beneath her as she tore down the hall.
‘Wooo!’ Angeline leant to the right and then the left, creating a snaking flight path. At the end of the corridor she slowed a little, took a sharp left and disappeared.
‘What if she crashes?’ Dylan asked.
‘She won’t crash,’ Edgar said. ‘She’s Angeline.’
She reappeared at the end of their corridor and came to a stop, hovering a few metres above the ground. There was a playful smile on her face.
‘She’s planning something,’ Edgar said.
‘What?’
‘We don’t know,’ Grandma said, ‘but when she gets that smile, you know something’s about to happen.’
This time Angeline twisted the throttle grips all the way and jerked forward into a cracking pace.
‘Go, Sis!’ Edgar called.
Angeline tightened her grip on the Ghost Rider, took a deep breath and, without any warning, turned a hard left. The machine spun her round so that she performed a complete rotation in the air. She corkscrewed towards the others, releasing the throttle just in time to come to a floating stop and drift to the ground in front of them.
‘That is officially my new favourite thing.’ Angeline beamed and handed it back. ‘It’ll be very handy to get to school.’
‘Thought you’d like it,’ Grandma Rose said and slipped the harness from her neck. ‘But, of course, it’s for official Ghost Club business only.’
‘Not even once?’ Angeline pleaded.
‘Not even once.’ She tapped her granddaughter’s nose. ‘And now to the Spectorium. Hope there’s enough room in that head of yours, Dylan, because there’s a lot more to learn.’
Grandma Rose headed off.
‘That was really brave,’ Dylan said to Angeline.
‘Oh, it was easy, really. Anyone can . . .’
‘I couldn’t.’ Dylan frowned and shook his head. ‘Trust me.’
Grandma Rose turned with a flourish when she reached the end of the corridor. Painted on the wall behind her was a mural of a castle, complete with ramparts, castle keep and a drawbridge firmly shut against the gatehouse. ‘Here we are,’ she said.
There was a pause.
‘At a dead end?’ Dylan asked.
Grandma Rose smiled. ‘In this business, it’s always good to remember that not everything is as it seems.’ She lifted a chain from around her neck to reveal a small remote.
A cranking noise cut through the air before the painted drawbridge lowered away from them on two lengths of chain, revealing a gaping, black exit that opened out into the night.
‘The Spectorium is one of the most valuable parts of the club. This helps keep it safe.’
A cool breeze drifted towards
them as the drawbridge settled with a thud on the platform of a rounded stone tower opposite.
‘Is it safe?’ Dylan shivered.
‘Perfectly!’ Grandma Rose sang. ‘Follow me.’ She took a torch from her pocket and strode across the drawbridge.
Dylan took one tentative step. He looked over the edge to the black waters of the moat far below and felt himself being drawn downwards. He quickly backed away.
‘Vertigo,’ Edgar said. ‘The sudden feeling of moving or dizziness when stationary. It’s very common in situations like this.’
‘It’s better if you don’t look down,’ Angeline advised.
Grandma Rose had unlocked the door to the tower on the other side. ‘Ready when you are.’
Dylan felt his muscles tense and a sharp tingle of nerves shudder throughout his body. He slowly lifted his foot and placed his sneaker carefully on the wooden bridge. As he was about to take another step, a gust of wind swept into them. He was knocked sideways and reached out to grab something to hold onto when he found Angeline’s hand.
‘You can do it,’ she urged gently. ‘The first time is hard but the next will be much easier.’
Her voice made Dylan almost forget how scared he was. His shoulders relaxed and he took another step until, in a matter of moments, he’d made it to the other side. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘You’re welcome.’ There was a brief pause before she added, ‘Can I have my hand back now?’
Dylan quickly let go. ‘Of course. Yes. Absolutely.’ He blushed and followed Angeline through a dark, vaulted foyer.
Grandma Rose flicked a switch and a series of pale yellow lights came to life on the walls, filling the room with a warm, fireside glow. ‘Welcome to the Spectorium.’
Grandma Rose took off her lab coat and draped it over the shoulders of a skeleton, where other lab coats were already piled. On a large desk covered in mounds of papers and splayed-open books, she pushed aside an assortment of teacups and carefully laid down the Ghost Rider.
A computer sat buried beneath Post-it notes. Lounges were nestled in cosy corners, littered with books and cushions. A glass booth with two coats suspended inside gently hummed with vibrations and written on a small plaque on the front was, ‘Ghost Coat Sanitiser’. There was even a machine filled with popcorn that perfumed the room with a rich, buttery smell.
There was a chaos to the Spectorium that Endora never would have tolerated. But it wasn’t the chaos that caught Dylan’s attention, rather what he saw on the walls. ‘And these are?’
‘Photographic evidence of apparitions from around the world,’ Edgar said. ‘Aren’t they fascinating?’
‘Yeah, fascinating . . .’
Grainy, black-and-white framed photos filled almost every space on the walls. They contained blurred images standing beside graves, along country roads and at the top of stairs. Some were just blobs of light or faded outlines of figures, others were clearer – so clear that at times you could even see the wrinkles on their faces and hands.
‘This is one of my favourites,’ Angeline said. ‘It was taken by closed-circuit television at Hampton Court.’ An image of a figure in a cape and hood stood with arms outstretched in front of open doors.
‘Could be a man in period costume leaving the building?’ Dylan reasoned.
‘Maybe.’ Angeline smiled. ‘But listen to this. The security staff heard alarms ringing near an exhibition hall, which meant the fire doors had been opened. But when they went to investigate, the doors were shut.’
‘There’s nothing especially ghostly in that,’ Dylan said hopefully.
‘Yes, but when they examined the CCTV footage, it showed the doors swinging open as if by themselves. Moments later, the robed figure appeared, swung his arms out and pulled the doors shut.’
‘Some of our best experts visited the site but found no spectral evidence during the times they were present,’ Edgar said. ‘The vision is compelling, though. Some say it’s fake, but adults can be very quick to disbelieve things that make them feel uncomfortable.’
‘How strange.’ Looking decidedly uncomfortable himself, Dylan moved away.
‘Adults,’ Grandma Rose huffed like she’d met one too many. ‘They can be a pain in the rear end sometimes – which is another reason why I’m so excited that you’re our next ghost catcher. But for now we have places to be and ghosts to meet.’
‘Ghosts to meet?’ Dylan’s voice trembled.
‘Not real ones, unfortunately,’ Angeline said. ‘It can take some time before you get your first call-out.’
‘Yes, but for now we need this.’ Grandma Rose scooped large serves of popcorn into striped paper bags and handed them to each of her catchers. ‘I made a fresh batch just before you got here. Come on, gang.’
She hoicked up her skirt, stepped over a pile of newspapers and paranormal magazines and slid a key into a solid metal door.
‘You really do take security seriously,’ Dylan said.
‘We didn’t make the doors,’ Grandma Rose said. ‘Emmeline Crump did.’
‘She was genuinely freaked out by that ghost.’ Angeline shook her head. ‘It’s a pity we weren’t born yet to drive the old troublemaker away.’
‘That ghost should consider himself lucky.’ Grandma Rose grinned. ‘He wouldn’t have been nearly so successful in terrifying Emmeline if he’d met the two best ghost catchers in the business.’ She pushed open a door that led into a mini cinema. ‘Take a seat. Anywhere you like.’
She moved to the back of the room and switched on the projector and computer. The screen soon lit up with shaky black-and-white footage of an old-fashioned kitchen.
‘In order to be a ghost catcher, Dylan, you need to know what kinds of ghosts you’re going to be dealing with. What I am about to show you is footage from Ghost Club investigations. Keep watching the screen closely.’
Nothing seemed to be happening. Dylan squinted, worried he was missing something, until a small glowing ball of light could be seen above the table.
‘What is it?’
‘An orb. A glowing sphere of energy believed to be from a person who has died.’ The glowing light disappeared. ‘They’re not generally known to cause trouble but they can be scary if you’re not used to them.’
The next image was of a vast room, lit only by the faint light of a fireplace. There was a lounge, a rug and a small footrest. The fire crackled quietly until it burst from the fireplace, tearing across the room with a great roar before retreating.
Dylan jumped, throwing most of his popcorn into the air and over his head.
‘Poltergeist.’ Angeline nodded knowingly.
‘It’s German for “noisy ghost”.’ Edgar ate another mouthful of popcorn. A wispy swirl of white smoke twisted across the screen. ‘It can sometimes present like that, but not always.’
‘They generally like to cause mischief,’ Grandma Rose said.
‘And they don’t care who gets in the way when they’re doing it,’ added Angeline.
The screen switched to a sleeping man tucked in bed. It was dark and the picture was grainy, but they could clearly see that the bed had begun to levitate – with him in it.
‘It’s strong.’ Dylan lost his appetite for what was left of his popcorn. ‘What is it exactly?’
Edgar explained: ‘Poltergeists are paranormal phenomenon attributed to the presence of an invisible entity that manifests itself by producing noise, moving objects and even creating pyrokinetic activity.’ As he said this, a candle on the man’s bedside table came to life. ‘Like that.’ He noticed Dylan wasn’t eating his popcorn. ‘Are you going to finish that?’
Dylan shook his head and handed him the bag.
‘These next little beggars can sneak up on you when you least expect it,’ Grandma Rose said. Black-and-white security footage of the ar
rivals hall at a train station appeared on the screen. It was dark and empty, lit only by the lights of the exit signs. ‘This was taken at 3am when a cleaner complained of unusual activity they’d seen after the station had closed.’
Dylan couldn’t see anything until a small tornado-like column of white light began to rotate in the centre.
‘That’s a vortex,’ Angeline said with delight. ‘A twirling funnel of spectral energy.’ Chairs and newspapers were lifted into the air; bins were caught in its wake and thrown across the hall. ‘They can cause a bit of damage when they get going.’
The vortex gained more power. The air filled with debris. Hanging lights flew from their cords, windows smashed and information boards fell from the walls and splintered into great piles of debris.
Until it suddenly stopped, leaving a blanket of chaos in its wake.
Next, there was video of a narrow stairwell of a house. As the camera descended, it panned across the walls and banister, which were coated with a slimy, thick substance.
‘Ectoplasm.’ Angeline raised an eyebrow. ‘Horrible, sticky stuff. Some ghosts love throwing this around.’
‘Here we have an apparition,’ Grandma Rose said as the faint outline of a man sitting on a park bench appeared. ‘Entities who go about their business as if they were still living in their era. They’re the hardest to communicate with and just hang out while you try to guess what they want.’
‘Completely harmless,’ Angeline said. ‘We’ve never had any trouble from them.’
‘Finally, we have your regular, common variety ghost.’ A dalmatian stood barking at the end of a kitchen table, on top of which was a possum eating his way through a biscuit tin.
‘Those animals are ghosts?’ Dylan asked.
‘You’ll see.’ Angeline had on another of her cheeky grins.
The dalmatian’s barking became more urgent until his two front paws landed on the table, tipping it to one side. The possum slid down the surface and leapt from the floor to the windowsill, where it escaped outside. The dalmatian stopped barking, happy at having driven the intruder away, turned and ran straight through the wall.
Ghost Club 1 Page 5
