‘Um, Dad?’ he began.
‘Yes, son? Tuck in,’ said Dad, smiling.
‘Did you just see the spaghetti move?’
‘Move? Spaghetti doesn’t move,’ said Dad, forking in a big mouthful. ‘It just lies there while you shovel it in your mouth.’
Tom looked at the spaghetti suspiciously. ‘Dad, I’m sure I saw it move.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Dad. ‘You’re just hungry, that’s all. Arrrrggggggh!’
This time Dad’s shriek wasn’t a bogeyman call. ‘Splerrg!’ Dad spluttered, as he spat out his spaghetti. ‘It…it wriggled in my mouth!’
A horrible thought struck Tom. ‘Um, Dad, where did you get this spaghetti?’
‘From the fridge,’ spluttered Dad, staring in horror at the squirming spaghetti. ‘It was already cooked in a big plastic container. I just had to heat it up in the microwave.’
‘But Dad!’ cried Tom. ‘That’s my term science project! Dr Maniac’s been teaching us how to breed mutant worms that are microwave resistant.’
‘It’s what?’ shrieked Dad. ‘You mean I nearly swallowed mutant microwave-resistant worms?’
‘Well, I nearly ate bat-dropping muffins!’ cried Tom.
‘Hello, everyone!’ said Mum brightly. She was wearing her work clothes: the filmy Tooth Fairy dress spangled with dew drops, the rainbow wings, the belt with the bag of money, and pliers just in case some of the teeth hadn’t quite come out.
‘Yum, something smells delicious. What’s for dinner?’ she asked.
‘Peanut butter sandwiches,’ said Dad shortly, standing up and picking up the bowl of mutant-worm spaghetti to take back to the kitchen.
‘But…’ began Mum, then took a look at Dad’s face. ‘Oh, good,’ she said instead. ‘Peanut butter sandwiches. Yummy.’
‘You don’t have to overdo it,’ said Dad grumpily. ‘Bat droppings, mutant worms, I don’t know what this place is coming to…’ Tom heard his dad’s angry bogeyman shriek as he entered the kitchen.
‘Bat droppings?’ enquired Mum.
‘Don’t ask,’ said Tom hastily, as Dad disappeared into the pantry to get the peanut butter. ‘Mum, what would you say if I told you someone had put a bad luck spell on me?’
‘I’d say, don’t be silly,’ said Mum comfortingly. ‘Sometimes bad luck just happens. Besides, it’d be an incredibly difficult spell. Most spells have to be for something, like making your toes drop off or turning princes into frogs if someone kisses them.’
Tom gave a sigh of relief. ‘That’s what I thought. It was just, well, with the bat droppings and the mutant-worm spaghetti…’
‘No,’ continued Mum. ‘You’d have to be a really powerful witch to make a vague spell like that work successfully. In fact I can only think of one witch around here who’d be powerful enough.’
‘Who?’ asked Tom. But in his heart he knew the answer already.
‘Why, your little friend Grizella’s mum,’ said Mum. ‘I do believe she’s powerful enough for any spell. Oh, no!’ she gasped, staring down at the tools on her belt.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Tom. He had a sinking feeling in his tummy, and it wasn’t just the bat droppings.
‘My pliers are rusty! It was that rainstorm last night—I forgot to dry them! I can’t go out with rusty pliers! Someone’s sure to notice rust stains on their pillow! And I used the last of the polish a week ago.’ She sighed. ‘It’s just one thing after another tonight!’
CHAPTER 6
What’s Wrong with Everyone?
No one ate much at dinner. Dad was still upset about the mutant spaghetti, Mum was worried about her rusty pliers and Tom was just too nervous to eat.
He could still taste the bat droppings, too.
Finally Mum fluttered down the hallway to her study to get her laptop and GPS navigating device—Mum was no good with maps either. Dad went upstairs to put on his bogeyman mask and his glowing red contact lenses, and his stock of drool to dribble on kid’s faces when they woke up and saw him peering over them in their beds. When you were going to terrify kids, Dad always said, you had to do it properly and take pride in your work.
Tom was just putting the plates into the dishwasher when Uncle Gus came in.
Tom brightened. Things always seemed better with Uncle Gus around. ‘Hi, Uncle Gus!’ he said. ‘It’s only peanut butter sandwiches for dinner. Dad left you some in the fridge.’
‘Hi, Tom. Thank you,’ said Uncle Gus gloomily, hanging his little red cap up on the hook by the door.
Tom stared at him. Uncle Gus was never gloomy. He was the happiest person Tom had ever met! And he’d been so reassuring this afternoon.
‘What’s wrong Uncle Gus?’ asked Tom. Surely, Tom thought, his bad luck couldn’t affect Uncle Gus too! ‘Is something wrong at the Henderson’s?’
Uncle Gus shook his head, then blew his big red nose into his purple-spotted handkerchief. ‘Oh nothing really. Mr Henderson’s bad leg is better. Their dog doesn’t even lift its leg on the postman now. It’s just, well, after you and Mog had gone an old school friend of mine walked by. I hadn’t seen him for years.’
‘But that’s nice!’ said Tom encouragingly. ‘Seeing old friends is nice.’
‘I suppose,’ said Uncle Gus, a little sad. ‘He’s a troll nowadays, did troll studies at uni and now he’s in charge of safety and maintenance on that big new bridge. He and his wife have a holiday cottage in Never Never Land and a time-share castle in Fairyland and they went snowboarding in Oz last holidays. And here am I…’ Uncle Gus shrugged, and plonked himself down at the kitchen table. ‘I just got to thinking…’
‘Thinking what?’ insisted Tom.
‘What have I done with my life?’
‘What’s wrong with your life?’ asked Tom, surprised by Uncle Gus’s question.
‘Well, there’s your dad—Chief Bogeyman for the entire east coast. And I bet your mum is going to be promoted to Deputy Chief Tooth Fairy as soon as she manages to get her maths right. And you’re doing well at school.’
‘Not all that well,’ said Tom,
Uncle Gus ignored him. ‘And here I am, nothing more than a garden gnome! You hardly need any magic ability to be a garden gnome! I don’t even have my own house!’
‘But Uncle Gus!’ cried Tom. ‘This is your home.’
Uncle Gus looked guilty. He patted Tom’s hand. ‘I’m happy here, I really am. It’s just, well, sometimes I wish I’d achieved just a bit more!’
He heaved himself up from the table. ‘I don’t want any peanut butter sandwiches,’ he said. ‘I’ll be in the cellar polishing my fishing rod if you need me. It’s the Martin’s place tomorrow and they do like me to have a shiny fishing rod. Or would you like me to help you with your homework?’
‘It’s just about mouse brains,’ said Tom. ‘Fra’ll help me.’
Uncle Gus sighed. ‘What do I know about mouse brains? I’m not even any help with homework. Have a nice time with Fra, lad. Say hello to her for me. I’ll be up to kiss you goodnight.’
Tom listened to Uncle Gus’s yellow slippers pitter-patter down the hallway.
What was wrong with everyone? Was it really Grizella’s mum’s spell? And it was all his fault! Tom bit his lip. He needed to talk to Fra, he decided. Fra could work out any puzzle. She’d know what to do!
CHAPTER 7
A Word With Fra
Fra lived in the room at the top of the tower. Tom was puffing by the time he’d reached the ninth floor, but it was worth the climb every day to talk to Fra. Outside the tower bats squeaked and whirled, their shadows fluttering against the windows.
Tom knocked on the door of the tower room.
‘Come in!’
Tom opened the door. Fra was sitting at the table working on a crossword, her brown hair trailing over her shoulders. Fra loved crosswords. She spent all day just looking out the window or doing crosswords. Other than her table and the two chairs the only other furniture in her tower were bookcases packed with crossword puzzle bo
oks and piles of magazines with crossword puzzles.
Mum had offered Fra a bed or a wardrobe or even a vase to put flowers in. But Fra had just shaken her head. What did she need a bed for? Or a wardrobe? Though she’d accepted the vase. Fra loved having flowers in her room.
‘Hi, Fra,’ said Tom.
‘Hi, Tom,’ she said. ‘What’s a seven-letter word for a really nasty person?’
‘Grizella,’ said Tom, grinning. It always made him feel good just to see Fra. She didn’t have blonde hair like Grizella’s, and she didn’t have blue eyes either. In fact, it was hard to tell what colour Fra’s eyes were. They weren’t quite green or brown. But she was Fra and that was enough for Tom.
‘That’s got eight letters,’ objected Fra. ‘I know! Villain!’ She wrote it down then looked back at Tom. ‘You look like a vampire’s sucked you dry then burped back just enough blood to get you going again,’ she observed.
Tom shook his head. ‘The only vampire at school is Mr Fang, the sports master. And he only drinks cheetah blood. He says it makes him run faster.’
‘Then what’s wrong?’ asked Fra gently, shoving her crossword puzzle away.
Tom sat down next to her. ‘I don’t know what to do!’ he wailed. ‘It’s Grizella! She said she was going to get
her mum to put a bad luck spell on me! Then the handle fell off my school bag, and Dad put bat droppings in the muffins and almost ate my mutant worm experiment for dinner. Mum’s pliers are rusty and even Uncle Gus is gloomy because he’s just a garden gnome.’
‘Bat droppings and mutant worms!’ gurgled Fra.
‘It’s not funny!’ muttered Tom.
‘Yes, it is,’ said Fra.
Tom grinned reluctantly. ‘Okay, it’s a bit funny. But all the rest of it isn’t.’
‘No, you’re right,’ said Fra seriously. ‘But are you sure it’s the spell? Maybe it all, well, you know, happened. Like there are good times and bad times but eventually they cancel each other out.’
‘Not so many bad times,’ Tom said. ‘Not all in a short time. It must be the bad luck spell.’
Fra considered. ‘Well, can’t you ask Grizella’s mum to take the spell off?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Grizella gets everything she wants. Grizella even has her own magic carpet and genie driver.’
‘Then ask Grizella really nicely! What did you do to her to make her have a spell put on you, anyway?’
‘Nothing,’ said Tom sullenly.
‘Huh! I bet there was something,’ said Fra.
‘Wasn’t!’
‘Bet there was too!’
‘Wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t!’ said Tom, grinning.
‘Tom Goodle, if you don’t tell me what you did I’ll tell your dad you borrowed his bogeyman cloak last week to terrify the sabre-tooth next door.’
‘You wouldn’t!’ cried Tom. ‘Anyway, Kitty-Kat deserved it! She’s always growling at me when I go past.’
‘You maggot-brained baboon!’ said Fra, glaring at him. ‘I’ll do anything to help you get out of trouble, Tom. Even if I have to get you into more trouble to do it! So tell me what you did.’
‘Oh,’ said Tom. He considered a minute. ‘You know, I really like baboons. Oh, all right,’ he bit his lip. ‘Grizella wants me to take her to the dance on Friday,’ he muttered.
‘Well, ask her to the dance then, you ning-nong!’ cried Fra.
‘No,’ said Tom.
‘Why not?’
‘Because…because…’
‘Look you silly dunderball!’ cried Fra. ‘Just ask the girl to the dance!’
‘No!’ yelled Tom.
‘Why not?’
‘Because I want to take you!’
Fra sat down again. She was silent for a moment. Tom was horrified to see her wipe a few tears from her eyes. ‘I’d love to go to the dance,’ she whispered.
‘I know,’ said Tom softly.
‘But I can’t.’
‘I know,’ said Tom again.
Fra hid her face in her hands. ‘Sometimes,’ she whispered, ‘I hate being a ghost.’
CHAPTER 8
Fra Has a Plan
Fra’s real name was The Princess Francesca Mathilda Hermione Arabella Briget Gertrude Elizabeth Emily Alexandra Catherine of Ruritania. And she was 214 years old.
At the same time she was just Fra, and she was Tom’s age, because that’s how old she’d been when she’d visited her old nurse in this house’s tower all those years ago. But the assassins had found her and…
Fra wouldn’t tell Tom what had happened then. Just that she’d died in this room and become a ghost and she’d been in the tower ever since.
‘I wish you could come to the dance,’ said Tom sadly.
Fra looked up. ‘Me too,’ she said dreamily. ‘I used to love to dance. I had a ball dress of pink satin trimmed with tiny pearls and roses embroidered around the hem. It was so pretty.’
Tom thought it sounded like total puke. But it also sounded like stuff chicks liked too. Even ghost chicks, he supposed. ‘It sounds cool,’ he said.
Fra smiled. ‘Sometimes I dance up here,’ she confessed. ‘Not when anyone can see me of course, it would be too embarrassing. You can’t really dance properly in a small room, not waltzes and dances like that. But I can pretend…’ her voice trailed off.
‘Fra?’
‘Yes?’ said Fra.
‘You could dance for me. I’d like to see you dance.’
Fra took a deep breath. ‘No, it’s no use wishing for what I can’t have,’ she said proudly and suddenly she looked like a princess again. ‘I’m stuck in this room and that’s the end of it! What we really need to think about is your problem!’ Fra brightened. ‘I know!’
‘What?’ demanded Tom.
‘I’ve got a plan!’ She bent over and whispered in Tom’s ear.
It felt weird when Fra whispered so close, thought Tom. Of course you couldn’t touch Fra, because she was a ghost. Ghosts could only touch things that didn’t live, like chairs and crossword puzzles. But he could still feel the breeze from her whisper against his ear.
Suddenly he realised what she was saying! ‘I can’t do that!’ he protested. ‘It’s totally yuck!’
‘Look, beetle brain,’ said Fra, ‘I’m a girl, even if I am a ghost and 214 years old, and I know what works with girls! Do you want Grizella’s mum to lift this spell or not?’
‘Yes,’ began Tom, ‘but…’
‘Well then!’ said Fra. ‘Now, tell me everything that happened at school today!’ she ordered.
Tom looked at Fra’s eager face. Fra would never go to school, or go surfing or on a picnic. But at least Tom could tell her what it was like.
‘First, we had Applied Magic with Miss McUrker…’ he began.
CHAPTER 9
Kitty-Kat Pays a Visit
It was still dark when Tom awoke next morning. It was stuffy too. Almost, he thought drowsily, as if something hot and furry was sitting on his face.
‘Arrrggggghhhh!’ screamed Tom, though it came out all muffled. It was hard to scream with a sabre-toothed tiger’s bum on your face.
‘Grrr?’ enquired Kitty-Kat, slobbering gently onto the pillow as Tom leapt out from under her and across the room.
‘Help!!’ shrieked Tom, trying to spit out Kitty-Kat’s tiger hairs. Sabre-toothed tiger bum tasted even worse than bat-dropping muffins. ‘Dad! Mum! Uncle Gus! Help!’
‘Tom! What is it? I’ve only just got home!’ Dad stumbled tiredly into the room, still wearing his bogey cloak. ‘Arrrgggghhh!’ he shrieked wearily, too pooped to even bogeyman properly.
‘It’s Kitty-Kat! From next door!’ yelled Tom.
Dad took one look at Kitty-Kat sitting on Tom’s bed and another at his son cowering behind the door.
‘Don’t worry, son!’ he cried. ‘I’ll take care of this!’ Dad flashed his bogey cloak in front of the yawning tiger, then took a deep breath.
‘Hoooowwwwllllll!’ shrieked Dad.
Nothing
happened. Kitty-Kat yawned again.
‘Er, Dad,’ began Tom.
Dad blinked. ‘That’s odd,’ he said, ‘everything is terrified of bogeymen.’
‘But, Dad…’
‘Quiet, son. Let me try it again.’ Dad took an even deeper breath.
‘HHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW WWWLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!’ he shrieked. The mirror on the wardrobe door cracked. Flakes of plaster fell down from the ceiling.
Kitty-Kat lifted a paw and began to wash herself.
‘I can’t understand it,’ muttered Dad.
‘It’s my fault,’ confessed Tom. ‘I sort of, er, borrowed your bogey cloak a few times to scare Kitty-Kat. I mean she growls at me from behind the fence on the way home! So I thought I’d scare her and…’ he gulped. ‘She just isn’t scared of bogeymen anymore.’
‘Not scared of bogeymen!’ cried Dad. ‘Tom, that’s the first rule of bogeymanning! Never scare anything too often, or they’ll stop being scared!’
Dad shook his head. ‘I just hope Head Office doesn’t hear about this,’ he muttered as he trudged down the hall. ‘A bogeyman unable to scare a little pussy cat…’
Which left Tom alone with the sabre-toothed tiger.
‘Er, nice Kitty-Kat!’ said Tom.
Kitty-Kat grinned and showed her fangs.
CHAPTER 10
What’s That Smell?
By the time Tom had managed to climb to safety up onto the wardrobe Kitty-Kat had become bored. She squatted on the rug and left a warm yellow puddle over Tom’s sneakers, then prowled out the door, waving her tufted tail. Tom watched her pad down the stairs, out the front door, then out the gate and back in the gate next door.
Tom stared. Who’d left the front door open? And the front gate? And next door’s gate too? Or was it…?
Tom gulped. The bad luck spell! He galloped downstairs in his socks to shut the two gates and the front door before Kitty-Kat decided to come back again.
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