My Family and Other Ghosts

by Lou Kuenzler

  “Pity.” Ivy shrugged. “They have really cute wild ponies on Dartmoor. Dad’s friend Steve sent a postcard once.”

  “Yes,” said Ash, “and I expect Darkmoor has ponies, too. Headless ones that gallop around in the middle of the night!”

  Even the thought of it made him shudder.

  “Surely you don’t really think we should all go and live in an actual haunted hotel, just because a ghost appeared and told us to,” he said.

  “Of course I do.” Ivy yawned as she climbed into the top bunk. “He’s not just any old ghost. He’s our grandpa,” she said. “And anyway, we don’t know if Grave Grange is actually haunted.”

  “Yes we do,” said Ash. “In case you’ve forgotten, Grandpa Digby lives there and he’s—”

  “Dead,” agreed Ivy. “I suppose you’ve got a point.”

  “Not to mention his mate, Harry the Headless Huntsman,” added Ash.

  “Hmm.” Ivy sounded thoughtful. For one, glorious minute Ash hoped that she might be about to change her mind over the whole moving-to-a-haunted-hotel-because-our-ghost-grandfather-asked-us-to thing.

  “I’ll admit, there is one problem,” she said after a moment of silence.

  “What is it?” Ash groaned. Was there some other terrible detail that he had missed?

  “Dad will never agree to move house just because of a few scribbled words on an old scroll,” said Ivy. “He won’t even know about the job that Grandpa Digby promised. What we need is a proper advert giving all the details. On a website or something.”

  “And how exactly are we going to manage that?” asked Ash. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew what Ivy’s answer was going to be.

  “You can do it,” she said brightly, hanging her head over the edge of the top bunk and grinning at him upside down like a happy (and very persuasive) bat. “You’re brilliant at computers and that sort of thing. Come on, Ash. You know it’s a good idea. The job sounds perfect and Dad’s been so miserable lately. Think what this fresh start would mean for him … for us all? There are too many memories in this flat.”

  Ash knew exactly what Ivy was talking about.

  “The toothbrush,” he whispered, and Ivy nodded.

  It was pink, worn-down and hidden in the back of the bathroom cupboard. Dad refused to throw it away. It had belonged to their mum.

  Mum had left the family when the twins were still babies (on their first birthday, in fact). She had fallen in love with a long-distance lorry driver called Norman, and set off to the travel the world. They hadn’t seen or heard from her since, except the occasional card on their birthday, or at Christmas.

  “It’s all right for us,” said Ivy. “We never really knew her. But it’s different for Dad. Everything reminds him of Mum. Even the wallpaper she chose in the living room, and the kitchen plates.”

  “And that toothbrush,” said Ash. He had seen Dad just staring into the bathroom cupboard for what seemed like hours. Especially lately, now he had no job to go to.

  “He needs to accept it,” said Ivy. “Mum’s not coming back.”

  “Not ever,” agreed Ash. He knew it was true, though his tummy twisted like a bag of snakes just saying it.

  “We have to get Dad out of here,” said Ivy. “We have to help him move on with his life.”

  “But what about us?” said Ash weakly. “We can’t just go running off… I’ve got an overdue library book to return. And we’ve got—”

  “School to think about,” said Ivy, finishing his sentence as usual. “Not after today, we haven’t; it’s the last day of term. Tomorrow will be the summer holidays.” (She was completely ignoring the issue of the library book.)

  “Fine!” Ash knew when he was beaten. “If you really think it’ll make Dad happy, I suppose I could design an advert on the computer.” He hugged his knees, rocking slightly, and began muttering his seventeen times table under his breath to try and calm his nerves.

  “Brilliant! I knew I could rely on you. You’re a hero!” Ivy beamed.

  “No I’m not.” Ash blushed. Heroes were brave and fearless. Heroes were not afraid of ghosts.

  Ash was afraid of ghosts. Very, very afraid of ghosts.

  “Seventeen times seventeen is two hundred and eighty nine,” he mumbled.

  It did not make him feel any better.

  CHAPTER THREE: THE WORLD IS JUST NOT READY FOR BRUSSELS SPROUT BISCUITS

  “The world is just not ready for Brussels sprout biscuits,” said Dad, staring down at a plate of bright green cookies, covered in a layer of sparkly emerald glitter, and something small and white, which might have been coconut flakes (or maybe garlic).

  “I’m sure they’re delicious,” said Ivy encouragingly – though she wasn’t prepared to actually try one. “You’re a great cook, Dad. Very … er … cutting-edge. You know, experimental.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” said Dad. “Perhaps that’s why I can’t find a job. I’ve worked for just about every cafe owner in this town and they’re just not ready for experimental.”

  “Exactly!” cried Ivy, seizing the chance to bring up the new job at Grave Grange. Across the table from her, Ash was being no help at all. He was hiding under his cap, as usual, looking worried.

  “What you need is a restaurant of your own,” said Ivy. “One in a hotel, maybe.”

  She sat back and smiled triumphantly, hoping that Dad would pick up on the idea.

  But he just stared glumly at his untouched mug of morning tea. “Even when I do get a job, I can’t keep it. There was the mustard-custard incident at the burger bar, of course. And do you remember Dolly’s Diner?”

  Ivy nodded. (It turned out that Dolly’s Diner didn’t actually belong to someone called Dolly at all – it was a tall, bald man called Ian with a moustache.) Dad hadn’t even made it past the first breakfast order before Ian had fired him.

  “All because I tried something new and added pickles to the blueberry pancakes,” Dad groaned.

  “What you need is people who will actually appreciate your food,” said Ivy. “The sort of person who eats out at expensive restaurants and hotels. They love trying new dishes.” She picked up the smallest of the bright green Brussels sprout biscuits and nibbled the edge to show her support. She only took a tiny, tiny bite – more like a lick, really. Ivy had been caught out by Dad’s more experimental recipes before. Sardine milkshake was not something she’d forget in a hurry. Not to mention the liquorice Bolognese and vinegar ice cream. But the biscuits really didn’t taste that bad – she was almost certain that was coconut on top.

  “Delicious!” She took another bite. A bigger one. No. She was wrong. They did taste bad. Really bad.

  There were three reasons the Brussels sprout biscuits tasted so disgusting:

  One: They were made from Brussels sprouts.

  Two: The little white flakes on top were not coconut.

  Three: The little white flakes on top were not even garlic. (They were squid. Cold, wet, fish-flavoured squid on a Brussels sprout biscuit!)

  Ivy slipped the biscuit back on her plate and tried to hide it under a slice of toast.

  Dad didn’t even notice. He just kept staring at his untouched cup of tea.

  “What you need,” said Ivy dramatically, “is a change.”

  “Change?” said Dad dully. “Even if I do get a job, most of the places around here won’t even let me change my greasy apron. Let alone the menu.”

  “Maybe it’s time for you to move on, then,” said Ivy, kicking Ash under the table. Why was he just sitting there like a terrified teabag about to be dunked in a pot of boiling water? Surely he knew this was his cue?

  “Oh, yes!” Ash pushed their ancient family laptop forward and turned the screen around to face Dad. “I was … er … just-browsing-online-this-morning…” he said in great nervous rush. “And-I-happened-to-find-this.” He really was a hopeless liar.

  “It’s an advertisement,” finished Ivy, in her best grown-up voice, giving Ash a quick thu
mbs up. He might not be any good at fibbing, but he had done a great job of designing a pretend website and making the online advert look really official. He was brilliant at stuff like that. He’d even checked her spelling.

  www.jobs-for-people-who-need-a-change.com

  WANTED: Experimental chef to run spectacular hotel and restaurant. Must be happy to work alone and have flair for unusual cooking. All accommodation provided on site at our charming hotel: Grave Grange, Darkmoor.

  Ivy held her breath as Dad read the advert.

  “Flair for unusual cooking?” he said, after a pause which seemed to last for ever.

  “Yes!” Ivy beamed. She was particularly proud of that line.

  “And on Dartmoor?” said Dad, seeming at least a little bit interested. “That sounds nice. My friend Steve sent a postcard from Dartmoor once.” He glanced over his shoulder as if checking to see whether it was still stuck on the fridge. “It had a picture of some really cute little ponies.”

  “No, Dad. Not Dartmoor,” said Ash. “Darkmo—”

  Ivy kicked him under the table again. Hard.

  “Don’t you see, Dad? It would be the perfect job for you,” she said. “You could plan your own brilliant menus for the restaurant. And you wouldn’t have to have a boss or anything. The whole hotel would be yours!”

  She saw that Dad was actually leaning forward to read the advert again. She looked over at Ash and grinned.

  “I say!” Dad gulped a mouthful of his cold tea. “It does sound jolly interesting.” There was a spark of energy in his voice that Ivy hadn’t heard for months.

  “We could all live there together, out in the countryside,” she said.

  “With dead Grandpa Digby,” muttered Ash.

  Ivy narrowed her eyes at him.

  “It’ll be a big adventure, Dad. Go on,” she urged. “All you have to do is apply.”

  “Hmm…” Dad scratched his chin.

  Ivy sat very still, hoping as hard as she could that he’d say yes. Ash fidgeted nervously.

  “Well…” (Another dreadful pause.)

  “I suppose it’s worth a shot,” said Dad finally. “The place is called Grave Grange, after all. That’s almost the same as our family name.”

  “The Graves of Grave Grange! See? It’s made for us,” cried Ivy.

  A huge smile spread across her face. It had taken a ghostly visit from their long-dead grandfather, and all the cunning she and Ash could muster, but it seemed like they might have managed to get Dad excited about something again, at long last.

  “Grave Grange, here we come,” she whispered, crossing her fingers for good luck.

  CHAPTER FOUR: TURN AROUND WHEN POSSIBLE

  “Turn around,” screamed the satnav. “Turn around when possible.” The machine’s normally calm voice was quaking with fear.

  “I think we ought to listen,” said Ash. But it was too late, Ivy was leaning her head right out of the car window even though it was pouring with rain.

  “Look. There’s a sign,” she cried, bouncing up and down in the front passenger seat.

  Their poor little car was crammed to the roof with weird-looking cooking utensils, and bags and boxes full of their possessions. Ash was hunched up in the back next to Dad’s pots, pans and mixing machines. A potato masher was digging into his side.

  “See?” Ivy pointed at something through the downpour.

  She was right. There was a sign. A twisted metal post with a single arrow, like a crooked finger pointing out across the windswept moors.

  “I definitely think we should turn around now,” said Ash. But nobody took the slightest notice.

  Dad was singing along in time to the swoosh of the windscreen wipers. Singing! Actually singing! Ash had barely seen Dad smile since Christmas, and now here he was belting out the words to Elvis Presley’s “Heartbreak Hotel”.

  Ash knew there were three things Dad really loved in the world:

  One: The twins, of course (which was lucky as he was their dad).

  Two: Cooking. (The more wild and wacky the recipe, the better.)

  Three: Elvis Presley. (The King of Rock ’n’ Roll.)

  It had been ages since Ash had heard Dad sing like this, though. Perhaps Ivy was right – this new job really did cheer him up.

  “Don’t worry, son. I’m sure that old sign is only a joke,” he said, turning left and following the arrow through a deep puddle.

  Ash pulled his cap down and held on tight as they bumped on over a potholed track.

  “I can’t let the nice people at Grave Grange down,” said Dad seriously. “They accepted my application so quickly. They seem dead keen to take me on.”

  “Exactly!” Ash gulped. “Dead keen. That’s what I’m worried about.”

  Ivy spun round in the front seat and gave him a hard stare. (Really hard).

  It was the twins themselves, of course, who had replied to Dad’s job application on the fake website they had built. Now, Ash wished with every tingling nerve in his body that they had turned Dad down.

  “There it is!” cried Ivy, sticking her head out of the window again and pointing through the rain. “There’s Grave Grange. Do you see it?”

  “No!” Ash closed his eyes and screwed them tight shut. “I don’t see anything.”

  He couldn’t even bear to look.

  CHAPTER FIVE: HIGH ON THE WINDY MOOR

  High on the windy moor stood Grave Grange.

  “Wow!” For once, Ivy was almost lost for words. Almost. “Wow,” she said again. “Wowzer wow wow!”

  As the car began to climb the steep hill, she saw that the old, tumbledown hotel was even weirder and spookier than she could ever have hoped for.

  “Isn’t it perfect?!” she cried.

  The sooty-grey brickwork was hung with thick black creepers and vines, tumbling over iron-fringed balconies, while gargoyles with the heads of dragons spat rainwater on to the cobbles below. Far above, turrets, towers and turnip-topped domes rose out of the towering rooftops. Everything about the strange pointy building looked wonderfully old, dark and mysterious.

  It wasn’t a castle, exactly. It was more … jumbled-up than that. As Ivy stared hard at the higgledy-piggledy shape, she could see, right in the middle, what might once have been a large, square-looking house. It was as if a child with thick black felt-tip pen had got bored and started doodling – adding battlements and chimneys, nooks and crannies, columns and curly bits, and even a huge drawbridge over a little moat at the front.

  “Crikey,” said Dad. “Golly-gosh.”

  “Gaaa,” said Ash. Ivy peered round at her brother cowering amongst the piles of pots and pans on the back seat. His cap was pulled right down over his face, but she knew that his eyes would be closed too.

  “It’ll be all right,” she whispered. “You’ll see.” After all, Grandpa Digby would be there to help them.

  Their little car spluttered and juddered like a cat with a furball as it tried to climb up the last twisting stretch of bumpy driveway to the top of the steep hill.

  “I just hope there are some guests,” said Dad. “Hotels need three things to survive.”

  He listed what those three things were:

  One: Guests.

  Two: Guests.

  Three: More guests.

  “If there aren’t any guests, there won’t be any money to pay my wages or settle the bills,” said Dad. “If there aren’t any guests, we’ll be heading home before the month is over.”

  “There’ll be guests,” said Ivy confidently. But she wasn’t at all sure it was true.

  The car crawled forward, groaning under the weight of all the bags and boxes they had crammed in when they’d packed up their belongings from the flat. Their kitchen table, an armchair and Dad’s bread-making machine were tied to the roof. Ivy couldn’t stand it – they were driving so slowly she could imagine snails overtaking them.

  “Can I get out and run on ahead?” she asked.

  “I don’t see why not,” said Dad, as the car stal
led completely. They ground to a halt in front of a huge iron sign by the gates:

  As Ivy heaved a pile of cookery books off her knees, she saw that the rain had stopped. Pale streaks of golden-yellow sun were glistening through the dark clouds.

  “See?” she said, kneeling on her seat and smiling over at Ash who was peeping out from under the brim of his cap at last. “I told you it would be all right.”

  “How about it, son? Do you want to go on ahead with your sister, too,” asked Dad.

  “Gaa!” said Ash again, which Ivy took to mean no.

  “See you later, then.” She leapt out of the car and slammed the door before a stack of dinner plates could fall out.

  “If there’s anyone at reception, tell them we’re on our way,” said Dad, a little uncertainly. “Just don’t climb on anything. I’m not sure it looks very safe.”

  “It isn’t!” said Ash.

  But Ivy was already charging up the steep, twisting driveway, towards the huge open drawbridge in the distance and the shadowy courtyard beyond.

  CHAPTER SIX: RUN!

  “Run!” said the satnav. “Abandon your vehicle and run for your lives!”

  “I think something’s gone wrong with that thing.” Dad chuckled.

  “I really think we should listen to it!” said Ash.

  But Dad was too busy trying to restart the car and muttering about a new menu featuring “Grave Grange gravy with fish”.

  Ash winced as the engine finally sprung into life and they drove on up the hill towards the hotel.

  “Seventeen times seventeen is two hundred and eighty-nine,” Ash chanted under his breath.

  It still didn’t make him feel any better.

  CHAPTER SEVEN: IS ANYBODY THERE?

  “Hello!” called Ivy. “Is anybody there?”

  She jumped as a strange thumping sound came from somewhere in the wall behind her.

  Probably just the pipes, she thought. Old buildings like this always had trouble with their pipes.