by Lou Kuenzler
“Hello?” she called again. The drawbridge had been down, so she had just walked straight in, but there didn’t seem to be a soul about. The huge reception hall was so empty only her own voice came echoing back to her … and another dull thud from the wall.
Ivy shivered. I hope those rumbling pipes don’t mean the heating’s busted, she thought. It was so cold in the huge stone hall, it was like standing in a fridge.
She thrust her freezing hands into her pockets and strode over to the reception desk. There was a notice in a dusty frame. Ivy blew away the cobwebs and read:
Well, at least that means they’re open, thought Ivy. She rang the little silver bell next to the frame.
Ping!
Ivy didn’t quite know what she was expecting, but she’d hoped that Grandpa Digby might be here to meet them. Then she noticed the thick flecks of dust dancing in a shaft of pale sunlight glinting through the arrow slit above her head. She remembered it was only the middle of the afternoon and still light outside. Perhaps ghosts didn’t appear in the daytime … but what about living people? Were there any of those here?
Maths wasn’t Ivy’s strong point, but even she knew Dad was right. You needed money to make a business work. And in the hotel business, guests meant money. They’d definitely need a few of those if this was going to be Dad’s new job.
BAM!
Ivy stumbled forward as something hit her on the back of her head.
“Ouch!” She spun around. “What was that?”
SLAM!
Something hit her on the nose.
“Stop it!” Ivy ducked.
WHAM!
Something hit her on the bum.
“What’s happening?” cried Ivy. Old books and candlesticks were flying through the air towards her. A tinkling laugh echoed round the hall, but Ivy still couldn’t see anybody.
Was this a guest? Ivy had always thought that the sort of people who stay in hotels would be posh and well-behaved.
“I’ve had enough of this!” she cried, as a wastepaper basket shaped like an elephant’s foot flew past her left ear. “Whoever you are, come out and show yourself.”
There were three things confusing Ivy as she skidded under the reception desk to take cover:
One: Who was doing this?
Two: How were they doing it?
Three: Why were they doing it?
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you somehow. I don’t mean any harm,” she said, poking her head out from behind the table leg and talking to the empty room. “My name is Ivy.”
PING!
The little silver bell shot off the top of the desk above her, only missing her nose by a millimetre.
“I’m Digby’s granddaughter,” explained Ivy, retreating. “Digby Graves. Do you know him?” She had a clear view from under all sides of the desk and couldn’t see anyone’s legs anywhere near it. That meant no one could have got close enough to throw the bell … not unless they were invisible. “Are you a ghost?” asked Ivy.
“Certainly not!” said a squeaky voice. Then there was a long rude sound like somebody blowing a raspberry. “I’m a poltergeist, silly!”
“Really? How interesting.” Ivy was delighted. “I’ve always wanted to meet one of those.” She knew poltergeists were a sort of naughty spook who liked to throw things around.
Cautiously, she stuck her head out from under the table again. Although the stone floor was strewn with debris, nothing was flying through the air any more.
A door at the far side of the hall swung open, and the tinkly laugh faded away.
“Wait!” Ivy leapt to her feet. “Come back.” The voice had sounded like it belonged to a young girl. “We could be friends if you like.”
“Ha!” The poltergeist blew another loud raspberry. “If you want to play with me, you’ll have to find me first.” Her high voice echoed back along the corridor.
BOOM!
The heavy wooden door slammed shut in Ivy’s face.
CHAPTER EIGHT: EVERYTHING WILL BE ALL RIGHT
“Everything will be all right,” Ash told himself, as he stepped into the huge entrance hall at Grave Grange. He was carrying a pile of saucepans that Dad had asked him to take down to the big kitchen in the basement.
They’d finally parked their car outside the hotel, and had a chance to look around a bit. Although the ancient building was definitely old and creepy and very dusty, Ash hadn’t seen anything too terrible yet. (Although he could have sworn the fishy eyes of the stuffed salmon in the glass case on the mantelpiece were following him across the room).
Other than a dead fish, there didn’t seem to be anyone else here at all. No guests. No staff. And no sign of Ivy anywhere. She had disappeared completely.
Typical! Ash thought.
There was no sign of Grandpa Digby either, even though the old ghost had promised he would be there to help them.
Ash jumped as something in the wall behind him made a heavy thumping sound.
“Don’t panic. It’s probably only the pipes,” he whispered under his breath. “Seventeen times twenty eight is four hundred and seventy-six.”
Ash tried to stay calm. He swallowed hard.
“I don’t mind what happens,” he reassured himself. “Just as long as I don’t meet that hideous headless huntsman Grandpa Digby told us about…”
CHAPTER NINE: PLAYING WITH A POLTERGEIST
Playing with a poltergeist was much harder work than Ivy had imagined.
There were three things which made the game of hide and seek especially tricky:
One: The poltergeist was invisible.
Two: The poltergeist kept throwing things.
Three: This particular poltergeist was a very good shot.
“Ouch!” cried Ivy, as a stuffed badger bounced off her shoulder and rolled away down the stairs. “Where are you even finding these things?”
“Serves you right!” There was a swish of tapestry curtains as the poltergeist seemed to rush past.
“Wait!” called Ivy. “You haven’t seen my Grandpa Digby anywhere, have you? I ought to try and find him.”
“No! Haven’t seen him for days.” The invisible poltergeist blew yet another raspberry and a door banged at the end of the long corridor (which Ivy guessed must mean she was all alone again and the poltergeist was gone).
“How strange,” she muttered. Grandpa Digby had promised he would be here to meet them. What could have happened to him? Ivy had no idea how to run the hotel without his help.
She was just about to start exploring some of the rooms up here, in case Grandpa Digby was wafting about in one of them, when she heard a blood-curdling scream coming from the floor below. (A scream she knew only too well.)
“Ash,” she cried, turning on her heel and charging down the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her. “Ash? Where are you?”
CHAPTER TEN: THERE’S NOTHING AS FRIGHTENING AS A HEADLESS HUNTSMAN
“There’s nothing as frightening as a headless huntsman…” Ash kept telling himself. As long as he didn’t meet the decapitated spook, he might just about be able to cope.
But that was before he heard the voices.
“Hello, dearie.”
“Hello, dear.”
“Hello.”
It was like an echo – a soft, whispering echo.
Ash turned around. That was his big mistake. That’s when he saw them…
There were three of them. Three grey ladies – hovering by the reception desk.
“AARRGH!” Ash dropped the pile of saucepans he was holding with a clatter.
Then everything went black.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: THREE GREY LADIES
Three grey ladies were leaning over Ash’s body.
“Leave him alone,” cried Ivy, as she skidded to a halt in the doorway. The trio of ancient figures turned towards her with pale, toothless grins.
Ivy’s heart was pounding. This was all her fault. She was the one who had persuaded Ash it was a good idea to come here. Now he was lying flat on his back
in the middle of the reception hall – saucepans scattered all around him, his face as grey as cement – while three menacing spirits bore down on him from above.
“Ghosts!” he said, lifting his head and whimpering. “They’re ghosts, Ivy.”
Ivy swallowed hard. She wasn’t usually afraid of anything – not when she’d seen Grandpa Digby’s face at the window in the storm, or even when the invisible poltergeist was throwing things at her. But these three hags were different. They seemed to have stepped out of the grave itself.
Then one of the grey ladies tutted.
“Ghosts?” she said. “Us?”
“Nonsense. We’re the McEver Sisters,” said the second grey lady.
“We live in the hotel,” added the third.
“Oh!” Ivy gasped in surprise, as she realized how silly she had been. The grey figures weren’t dead (at least, not yet), they were just very, very old ladies. She let out a great sigh of relief.
“You’re guests, not ghosts,” she cried in delight.
So there really were real people staying in the hotel after all – real people who could eat in Dad’s restaurant! Although, the three grey McEver sisters looked so pale and serious she couldn’t imagine their reaction to Dad’s “experimental” cooking.
Ash sat up and pulled his cap back on to his head. “I think I must have fainted. Are you sure you’re not…”
“Dead?” The first old lady tutted again. “How rude!”
“Certainly not,” said the second.
“Although, I can see why you might think that,” said the third one more kindly. “We are absolutely ancient.” She giggled, and then all three McEver sisters began shaking from head to toe with laughter, their old bones rattling like coat hangers on a rail.
“Are they all right?” hissed Ash.
Ivy wasn’t sure. But she was pleased the old ladies didn’t look so stern any more.
“I’m Enid,” wheezed the first one at last. “We’re triplets.”
“I’m Ethel,” said the second. “We’re a-hundred-and-three years old.”
“I’m Edna. They’re both older than me. I’m the youngest by a whole thirty minutes,” said the third with a cheeky wink.
“That’s amazing,” cried Ivy. “We’re twins. And I’m the oldest – by twenty-two minutes.” She helped Ash shakily to his feet and they introduced themselves.
“Tell us, what brings youngsters like you to Grave Grange?” asked Enid.
“We haven’t had any other guests here for years,” agreed Ethel.
“Not a soul,” added Edna.
“No other guests?” said Ivy, her heart sinking. “Oh dear.” She wished Grandpa Digby would turn up and explain everything. How were they supposed to run a hotel if no new guests ever came?
“Now the manager’s left too,” said Edith sadly.
“And the chef,” added Ethel.
“I suppose the whole place will have to close down.” Edna sighed.
The old ladies looked truly miserable at the thought of Grave Grange closing down.
“Don’t worry,” said Ivy encouragingly. “Everything is going to be all right. We’re here to run the hotel. Our dad is the new manager and head chef all rolled into one.”
“Oh, splendid. How lovely.” The grey ladies grinned at Ivy, revealing rows of pink gums: they really didn’t have a tooth between them.
“There’s just one tiny problem,” said (the one-who-Ivy-thought-might-be) Edith. It was hard to tell as the three elderly triplets were absolutely identical. They had switched places while they were speaking, so Ivy could only guess at who was who.
“We’re so old, we’ve spent all our money,” said (the-one-who-Ivy-thought-was) Ethel. “We can’t afford to pay our bills anymore.”
“I suppose you’ll have to throw us out if we can’t pay,” said (the-one-who-might-be) Edna with a sigh. “That’s what the old manager threatened to do before he left.”
“Throw you out?” said Ivy. “Certainly not.”
She tried not to catch Ash’s eye. He’d most likely be thinking about maths and how they couldn’t afford to let three old ladies stay in the hotel free of charge – not if they didn’t have any other guests to help pay the bills. He’d be right, of course. But Ivy had taken to the three ancient sisters right away. She couldn’t just turn them out on to the moor, especially not now the wind seemed to have picked up. She glanced through the open doorway and saw that it was raining again too.
Surely they would find some other guests for Grave Grange soon. Somehow…
“Don’t you worry, the Graves family are here to look after you,” she told the old ladies. They seemed so frail she felt as if they might fade away before her eyes. “Have you had anything to eat today?”
“Not a morsel,” said (possibly) Ethel.
“Then Dad will make you something right away,” said Ivy, spotting him struggling towards the drawbridge with a box of crockery under one arm, a herb rack under the other and a sieve on his head like a hat.
“I just hope you like unusual food,” said Ash kindly. Ivy should have known he wouldn’t be able to turn the old ladies out, any more than she would. “Only Dad’s cooking can be a bit…”
“Experimental,” said Ivy, finishing his sentence for him.
“Oh, good,” said the jolliest sister (who Ivy was fairly certain was Edna). “Experimental is my middle name.”
“Nonsense!” said (possibly) Enid. “Your middle name is Maud.”
Edna growled.
Ivy sensed an argument might be about to break out but, before things could get started, Dad reached the reception hall.
He was dripping wet. (His sieve-hat had done nothing to keep out the rain off, of course. It had dribbled straight through the holes.)
“Hello!” He smiled. “My name’s Douglas. But You can call me Dug. Dug Graves. I’m the new ch—”
Unfortunately, at that moment, three things happened to Dad all at the same time:
One: He slipped backwards in a pool of water from his own feet.
Two: He tripped over one of Ash’s saucepans.
Three: The sieve on his head went flying through the air faster than a Frisbee thrown by a poltergeist.
“Look out,” cried Ivy as the three old ladies ducked just in time.
“I’m so sorry,” cried Dad, wobbling on one leg. His wet foot was still stuck in the saucepan and he was desperately clutching the box of crockery to his chest. The herb rack had been upended under his arm, and parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme were fluttering down to the floor like flakes of green snow. “Are you all right, ladies?” he gasped.
“Perfectly fine, thank you,” said (almost certainly) Ethel grandly. Though she did look a little shaken after having nearly been decapitated by a flying sieve.
“Don’t worry, Mr Graves,” said (most likely) Edna reassuringly. “Things are always flying through the air around here.”
“All the time,” agreed (very probably) Enid. “It’s just one of the hazards of staying at Grave Grange.”
“Hazards?” asked Ash. “What do you mean, hazards?”
Nobody answered. Ivy wasn’t surprised. The strange banging in the wall was so loud now, she could barely hear herself think.
“There we go!” shouted Dad, as he finally managed to pull his soggy foot out of the saucepan. He squelched forward to shake hands with each of the McEver sisters in turn. “I’m sure we can rustle up a delicious complimentary pudding to make up for your distress,” he promised.
“As long as it’s something nice and soft,” said (might be) Ethel.
“Something easy to chew!” agreed (could be) Enid.
“We don’t have many teeth left,” explained (most definitely) Edna with a gummy grin.
“Blancmange!” cried Dad excitedly. “Or maybe a mousse … a soufflé … or perhaps a jelly?”
Ivy smiled. He was acting like a hotel chef already. (Even if the McEver Sisters were not actual paying guests.)
“Psst!
Ivy.” She felt Ash tugging at her sleeve. “Psst!” he whispered. “What do you think the Grey Ladies meant when they said things fly through the air all the time around here?”
“Erm… Maybe just that we have to be careful because floors are slippery, especially if they’re wet,” said Ivy, pointing down at the uneven flag stones.
This didn’t seem like quite the right moment to tell her brother she had already met a poltergeist.
CHAPTER TWELVE: THERE REALLY IS NOTHING AS FRIGHTENING AS A HEADLESS HUNTSMAN
“There really is nothing as frightening as a headless huntsman…” Ash kept reassuring himself. As long as he didn’t bump (head first) into the decapitated spook, everything else would be OK.
It was already the family’s second evening at Grave Grange and, to Ash’s surprise, only three really strange things had happened (so far):
One: The weird banging sound continued to come from the pipes in the reception hall.
Two: The fishy eyes of the huge stuffed salmon in the glass case were definitely following Ash around.
Three (and this one involved actual physical danger): A mysterious pot of flying marmalade (accompanied by a rude raspberry-blowing sound) had only narrowly missed hitting him as it whizzed past his ear at breakfast.
There was still no sign of Grandpa Digby anywhere, though, which did seem very odd, especially as he had promised he would be here to help them run the hotel.
It just proves, Ash thought, that you should never trust a ghost. Not even one who is related to you. Yet, he had to admit, life at the spooky hotel hadn’t proved nearly as terrifying as he had feared. Right now, as the evening sun sank over the dark moors, Ash was acting as a waiter in the long, shadowy dining room.
“Delicious,” said (probably) Edith, waving her spoon at him as she tucked into her pudding.
Strangely, the old grey ladies seemed to love Dad’s cooking. As long as there was nothing chewy, he could be as experimental as he liked. His fizzy black squid-ink soup, followed by liquidized liver-and-lamb-chop mousse with baked bean purée, had gone down a storm, and the McEver sisters were just tucking into three bowls of his special cheesy-flavoured ice cream when (probably) Edna shivered.