Ghost Club 3, page 4
‘But I wasn’t.’ There was an awkward pause before she added, ‘Unless you keep squeezing my hand like that.’
‘Sorry.’ Dylan let go.
After a little more fussing to make sure Angeline was okay, the group prepared to leave.
But not before Dylan noticed that Dragos hadn’t moved. From the moment the shield had fallen, he’d remained still as a statue, his face blank – as if he knew something no one else did.
Dylan’s wings from his bat costume fluttered behind him as he walked down the main stairway of Hotel Varcolac. ‘But are you sure you’re okay?’
Angeline wore a floor-length black dress and had a book tucked under one arm. Her face was pale against a long dark wig, and she had a small bandaid on her brow. ‘For the tenth time, I’m perfectly okay.’
‘Yes, but I pushed you to the ground, which isn’t the first time, and you fell so heavily. I just wanted to make sure you’re –’
‘Fine. Which I am.’ Angeline smiled. ‘And that makes it eleven.’
‘There’s nothing to feel bad about.’ Edgar was dressed in a black smock and pointed hat with a book of spells poking out of his top pocket. ‘You were actually most impressive.’
‘Impressive?’ Dylan’s wings lifted as he shrugged. ‘Don’t you mean clumsy, oafish, careless?’
‘Not at all. Reflexes like that are very beneficial in our line of work.’
‘And you rescued me from a possible accident, maybe even from something much worse.’ Angeline looked into Dylan’s eyes. ‘Thank you for saving me. You’re my hero.’
Dylan blushed.
Angeline’s smile widened. ‘But mostly you saved me from missing the unveiling of Grandma Rose’s new inventions – and meeting Ripley Granger!’ A small giggle escaped from her lips. ‘Let’s go see if he’s here.’
Edgar and Angeline hurried down the stairs.
Dylan’s heart sank, just a little, before he followed.
At the bottom of the stairs, among a sea of ghost, zombie and demon costumes, the Usher family was waiting. Arthur threw his hands out when he saw the young catchers. ‘Aren’t you all a picture of perfect ghoulishness?’
‘Thank you.’ Angeline curtsied and adjusted her pointed witch’s hat.
Edgar studied his mother’s flowing red dress, black cape and sharp fangs. ‘You are a vampire,’ he concluded before turning to his father, who was dressed in a chef’s apron, hat and carrying a rolling pin. ‘But I’m having trouble with your costume.’
Arthur held his rolling pin in the air. ‘I am . . . the Grim Baker. Get it? Like the Grim Reaper, bringer of death, but with a new twist.’
Edgar laughed nervously. ‘Someone who kills people with their cooking.’ He looked at his sister. They knew one of them had to say something else or they’d hurt their father’s feelings.
Angeline was no good at lying, so resorted to the truth. ‘Of all the costumes in the room, yours has to be the scariest.’ She noticed Grandma hadn’t said a word and was chewing on her thumbnail. ‘Are you ready for your big moment?’
‘Yes, of course, I . . .’ Her eyebrows knotted into a scowl. ‘Actually, if I’m honest, I’m a little scared.’
‘Scared?’ Grandpa Huffman snapped into view. ‘Of what?’
‘What if I fail? What if my inventions aren’t any good? What if . . .’
‘What if you keep standing here talking and no one ever gets to see the result of your incredible talent and hard work?’ Angeline interrupted.
‘She’s right. You’re going to be amazing,’ Edgar said.
‘As you always are.’ Grandpa Huffman beamed.
‘Rose?’ They turned to see a man in a Sherlock Holmes cap carrying a cane and grinning wildly beside them. He lifted Grandma Rose’s hand and kissed it. ‘How lovely it is to see you, as always.’
‘Richard Finkman.’ Her smile looked a little strained. ‘Looking forward to the unveiling?’
‘Undoubtedly.’ He winked. ‘I think I have a real winner this year, and to be sharing the stage with you while it’s revealed will be a true honour.’
He walked into the crowd, whistling and swinging his cane.
Grandma waved him off with a smile before adding, ‘Fraud.’
‘Grandma!’ Angeline said.
‘Oh, I know I shouldn’t say that, but he does have a way of irritating me with all his hand-kissing, lovely-to-see-you and did-I-tell-you-about-my-latest-invention, blah blah blah.’
Grandpa Huffman pursed his pale lips. ‘But there’s nothing wrong with Ripley?’
‘Absolutely not. Ripley Granger is a uniquely talented ghost-catcher, and Finkman has invented a few gadgets that are okay . . . but one that failed stupendously when Ripley needed it most.’
‘Anyone can make mistakes.’
‘Yes, but this one put people’s lives in danger.’
‘Not deliberately,’ Grandpa argued. ‘And it was a long time ago.’
‘Finkman has been writing to me for years, showing off about his inventions, whereas Ripley goes quietly about his business making this world a safer place.’
‘Not sure about quietly,’ Grandpa huffed. ‘Have you seen how many books he has written?’
‘You’re just saying all these things to be contrary.’
‘Not because there’s an ounce of truth in it?’
‘Not even a speck.’
Edgar and Angeline swapped worried looks. They’d seen their grandparents bicker before, but not like this.
Arthur tried to calm the situation. ‘Both men are very good at what they do and deserve the praise they get.’
Grandpa and Grandma remained silent.
‘Come on, Usher family.’ Arthur whirled his rolling pin in the air. ‘Let’s go inside and have ourselves some fun.’
He led the way into the ballroom, leaving Grandpa Huffman in their wake. ‘Sure, just because I’m dead, don’t think you have to wait for me.’ A group dressed as mummies walked straight through him. ‘It’s going to be a long night.’
Inside the Grand Hall the party was in full swing. Waiters dressed as Draculas handed out red drinks and a band made up as zombies played jazz in the corner. Laughing groups of old friends reunited and others huddled at tables, which were covered in black cloths and lit by the bright, jagged smiles of jack-o’-lanterns. Gargoyles crouched on stone columns and the roof dripped with decorations: cobwebs, bats, wavering ghosts and greenish ghouls. Three large metal rings with flickering candles were suspended by thick chains and cast an eerie glow over the entire scene.
‘I can’t believe we’re finally here.’ Angeline made her way between groups of costumed catchers talking in excited bursts.
‘Well, as brave as that sounds,’ a tall man dressed as an executioner said, ‘you should have seen me with the Nicholson ghost of ’93. Fierce, it was . . . I’d never seen such fangs on a ghost dog before . . .’
‘Yes, well . . .’ A woman in a spider suit spoke up. ‘It’s all fine and dandy to deal with ghost dogs, but when you meet ghost elephants your life really starts to get exciting.’
Dylan whispered as they passed, ‘Do you think those stories are true?’
‘In one way or another,’ Angeline said. ‘But when ghost-catchers get together, some of them can’t help making the story a tad more exciting.’
She stood on her tiptoes and looked around. ‘Can anyone see Ripley?’
‘Not yet, but I believe he’ll be here quite soon,’ Grandma said.
This time Grandma, Lily and Angeline all gave brief squeals.
‘Ushers!’ From across the room a man waved. He was dressed as a peasant with a fake axe embedded in his head.
‘We’re off to mingle,’ Lily said. ‘You kids have fun.’
A waiter with a whitened face, long nails and a glum, familiar look held out a tray of tall red drinks. ‘Cherry juice masquerading as blood?’ His eyebrows were bushy, his nose long, and from his bald head protruded two pointed ears.
As Angeline took a sip she thought she recognised him. ‘Dragos?’
‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘It’s simply another exciting duty I get to carry out.’
‘Thank you for the tour this afternoon. It was fascinating.’
His face didn’t change with the compliment. ‘I’m glad you didn’t find it too tedious.’
‘Tedious?’ Edgar cried. ‘It was very enlightening.’
‘If not a little dangerous at the end,’ Dylan mumbled into his drink.
Dragos shot him a cold stare that lingered long enough for Dylan to feel a chill. They were jostled by another wave of catchers entering the hall. Dylan was spun aside, turning this way and that, trying to hold his drink steady with both hands. The party-goers excused themselves and laughed as they squeezed past, but by the time the rush had eased he couldn’t see Angeline or Edgar. He searched through the swirl of zombies and ghosts – even a drowned sailor draped in seaweed – but it was as if his friends had disappeared, leaving him all alone.
He sipped his drink and looked around nervously, surrounded by people he didn’t know. He thought of his dad, who was lost too. A wave at an airport, a plane ride to the Amazon – and he was gone.
Dylan was in a crowded hall but he felt small and lonely, something that had been happening a lot since the day his dad boarded that plane and waved them goodbye.
‘You’ve been abandoned too?’
A young woman stood beside Dylan, stirring her drink, an annoyed scowl firmly fixed into her lips. Her dress was torn and muddy, and her face was painted with a very familiar pale, dead-person look.
‘Oh no, my friends are here, I’m just –’
She pointed a grubby finger at him. ‘You think they’re your friends, but you wait. As soon as my friends had the chance, they showed me how much they really cared.’
‘Oh, but my friends are different, they –’
‘I thought I had friends, even a fiancé who said he loved me, then I fell down a mine shaft and no one even noticed I was missing. Not until my family realised I hadn’t brought in the milk the next morning. Can you believe that? Was I so inconsequential that it took a pail of milk for them to –’
‘Excuse me for interrupting, dear lady, but there is a very important call for the young man.’
Dylan was surprised to see Gloom standing with a phone cradled in his hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dylan said, even though he wasn’t sorry at all to be leaving the dreary woman with the sad story. ‘Nice to meet you.’
Gloom and Dylan retreated into the crowd. The woman called after them, ‘Don’t mind me. I’m as invisible dead as I was alive. Just leave, go on – I’ll be here alone, forgotten . . .’
Her voice faded behind them.
‘Who is that?’
‘Dolores Smiggins,’ Gloom answered. ‘She can be quite dreary.’
‘No, I mean who is that on the phone?’
‘Oh, no one.’ He put the phone in his pocket. ‘You just looked in need of rescuing.’
Dylan frowned. ‘So, she’s really dead?’
‘Has been for about a hundred years. She comes to the convention every year, telling the story of how she died to anyone who’ll listen. If you ask me, it’s very gruesome.’ Gloom shivered.
Dylan stared at the man who wrote poetry about people being eaten by a tarantula and savaged by werewolves and wondered, What isn’t gruesome about that?
‘Are there many other ghosts here?’
‘Oh, yes. You always have a few making an appearance.’
‘Gloom!’ A man wearing a crown, a fur-trimmed gown and a large jewelled necklace cried out. ‘Roderick Gloom? Is that you, you old spook?’
Gloom spun round but Dylan noticed for the first time since he’d known him that his normally confident face briefly flinched, as if he’d stood on a tack.
‘Gerard Braxton, my old man. How . . . how are you?’
‘Great as ever! Still the record-holder for the most number of catches in my club and, as you can see, still very good-looking.’ He opened out his arms and turned on the spot, his gown swirling around him. He nudged Dylan with so much enthusiasm that the young boy almost toppled over. ‘Old Gloom and I trained together before I was invited to join one of the world’s top clubs in Denmark. He and I were two of the best catchers. How’s your record stand, old man?’
Gloom began to speak but stopped as if a fly had caught in his throat. He coughed and spluttered before Dylan grabbed a juice from a passing Dracula and handed it to him.
Braxton laughed. ‘Things that exciting, are they?’
There was another awkward pause before Dylan burst in. ‘They sure are. We’ve been very busy, and Mr Gloom has been crucial in our club’s success.’
Braxton fixed Dylan with a skeptical eye. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes. There was that pesky ghost in Castle Koszmar.*And of course we never would have caught the ghost of Gravesend College** and solved the cold case from the 1920s if it hadn’t been for this man.’
‘Is that so?’ Braxton eyed Gloom with a sly smile. ‘Because I’d heard you’d retired with an injury.’
Gloom opened his mouth but nothing came out.
‘That would never stop Mr Gloom,’ Dylan said, ‘which is lucky for us or we’d lose our best catcher. Us young ones need masters like Gloom so we can learn from his wisdom and expertise.’
Braxton looked as if he didn’t believe a word. ‘Well, we must catch up so I can hear all about your . . . expertise.’
Braxton, his crown and his very healthy ego walked into the crowd.
Gloom stared at his feet and whispered, ‘Thank you, Master Dylan.’
‘I figure one good rescue deserves another.’ He smiled.
Gloom didn’t. ‘I used to think I was quite the catcher – not one of the best, but I was certainly up there for skill and enthusiasm.’ He clutched his leg.
‘After you broke your leg it was only natural that you weren’t going to be able to catch like you used to.’
‘It wasn’t quite that. I could still catch, but the fall somehow made me lose my confidence. When I was better, Grandmaster Fleischmann asked if I’d like to return to duties, but I chose instead to help around the grounds. It’s only since you joined us that I’ve been out on catches again, and I’ve quite enjoyed it.’ He sighed. ‘If I hadn’t chosen the easy way out, I could be like Braxton.’
‘What, a fat head? You’re not anything like that man, and I think that’s a very good thing.’
Gloom finally smiled. ‘Thank you, Master Dylan. It has been a real pleasure to get to know you.’
And for the first time since they had met, Dylan could honestly say, ‘And it is a pleasure to know you too, Mr Gloom.’
A line of zombies lifted trumpets to their lips and sounded out a triumphant tune.
‘It’s about to begin.’ Gloom was back to his old self. ‘Let’s find our table and get ready for a night we’ll remember for a very long time.’
* (See Ghost Club Book 1: The New Kid)
** (See Ghost Club Book 2: The Haunted School)
‘Or-DAR!’
Although she was small, the booming voice of the bespectacled woman on stage thundered through the Grand Hall, causing an almost immediate silence.
‘It’s Myra!’ Angeline smiled at the cheerless Chief Investigation Organiser of their club.
‘Ladies, gentlemen and the paranormal among us.’ Myra’s voice was pickled with boredom. ‘I call to order the 140th Annual Ghost Club Convention.’
At that instant, three large banners unfurled behind her with the international insignia of the Ghost Club.
‘I stand before you from the Gravesend branch, and it is my privilege to welcome you to the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania.’ Myra wasn’t known for her bubbly personality, and she was doing nothing to change that now. ‘Would you please be upstanding for the entrance of the High Council of Grandmasters.’
There was a scraping of chairs as the entire room rose to their feet. Leaders of Ghost Clubs from all over the world entered to the fanfare of trumpets. They wore identical cloaks, but in colours and patterns that marked out their club, and each was fixed with the same proudly worn insignia. Loud applause followed their every step. Grandmaster Fleischmann led the way to a long table at the front of the room.
The applause died down as Myra continued. ‘And now, it is my great pleasure to give you the esteemed leader of Gravesend Ghost Club, Grandmaster Fleischmann.’
Applause erupted again. Fleischmann climbed the stage and held his hand up to silence the crowd. ‘Welcome, everyone, to this very special occasion. Before I begin proceedings, I invite you to recite with me the Ghost Club oath.’
The costumed crowd bowed their heads in unison and began.
The gathered members solemnly swore to defend citizens everywhere from unwanted paranormal activity, before adding, ‘No ectoplasm will be too disgusting, no ghost will be too terrifying, 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.’
Grandmaster Fleischmann looked fondly at them all. ‘And a proud job you do. Please sit.’
‘As you all know, Ghost Club was formed more than 150 years ago through a firm belief in the otherworldly, and what better place to celebrate than in one of the world’s most active regions. We know there are ghosts who walk among us, never causing concern . . .’
A few ghosts in the audience raised their hands and waved.
‘But there are those who are more troubled and, when they come back to this world, tend to cause unrest. It is our proud job to protect humans from these more unpleasant encounters, and we do that through the hard work and dedication of catchers like yourselves, but also through the remarkable ingenuity of our chief inventors.’
Grandmaster Fleischmann held out his hands. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for the unveiling of this year’s newest ghost-catching equipment.’ The curtains opened to reveal a lab bench. ‘Please welcome esteemed inventors Doctor Richard Finkman and Professor Rose Usher.’
