The Ghostly Ghastlys
Book 1
Finding A Home
Written by Barbara Godwin
Illustrated by Christina Boon
Copyright 2013 Barbara Godwin
In memory of Henrietta, my first tutor and a brilliant children’s writer, and to whom I am deeply indebted for her generosity and belief in my burgeoning writing ability.
With my heartfelt thanks to Christina for her gorgeous illustrations, to Rachel and Kelley for their in-depth and thorough editing, and to my very many writing friends whose comments over a long period of time have made this series possible.
Chapter 1. Amazing Mischief
Mr and Mrs Ghastly and the three little Ghastlys – Bubble, Trouble and Puff – lived in the castle above the town.
Mr and Mrs Ghastly were opera singers, and celebrities in the ghost world. They gave nightly performances in the woods below the castle. Ghosts from miles around came to hear them.
Other ghosts lived at the castle too. It was their job to scare the visitors, because it was a haunted castle.
The little Ghastlys didn’t have any jobs, but they liked to join in with the scaring. They tweaked hair, pulled coats and went “Weee-oooo!” The visitors squeaked with delight. All the visitors could see (if they looked properly) were faint grey floating shapes.
It was fun making people scream and squeal and the little Ghastlys were very good at scaring, better in fact than the other ghosts. The other ghosts didn’t like that.
“Haunting is work for big important ghosts!” screeched the Wailing Lady.
“Little ghosts should keep away and mind their manners,” snapped Buckle the ghostly butler.
“Little ghosts should not be seen and should never be heard,” said the Headless Knight, rather snootily. “I shall tell your parents to keep you under control.”
The Headless Knight found Mr and Mrs Ghastly and had a very long moan about the children.
“Poof!” snorted Mrs Ghastly, who looked like a tall spiky cloud (to anyone who saw her.) “They’re helping you out. You should be grateful to have us important ghosts and our children here with you.”
Mr Ghastly was stout, short, and like a ball-shaped cloud (to anyone who could see him.) “You are right as always, my dear,” said Mr Ghastly. “But maybe I should have a quiet word with the little Ghastlys. We have to live with these castle ghosts after all.”
So he did.
“But it’s fun, Dad!” said Bubble. She swung her long ghostly pony tail from side to side.
“The visitors like us scaring them!” said Trouble. He had spiky hair and a wicked sense of humour.
“The castle ghosts are being horrid because the people don’t scream at them!” said Puff. She was tiny with curly hair and a round baby face, but there was nothing else angelic about her.
“That’s all very well,” said Mr Ghastly, “but keep out their way and don’t do any haunting for a while.”
“Yes, Dad,” said Bubble.
“Okay,” said Trouble.
“I suppose so,” said Puff, “but it’s not our fault.”
Mr and Mrs Ghastly were always busy. They gave performances every night, and they rehearsed during the day. They didn’t keep an eye on their children, so Bubble, Trouble and Puff could usually do whatever they wanted.
They decided to try and be good. That meant they had nothing to do at all.
They floated across the castle green where visitors were picnicking and playing games. A family were talking amongst themselves.
“This is meant to be a haunted castle,” said the mother.
“It’s rubbish,” said the father.
“Ghosts are supposed to be fun!” cried out one little girl.
The little Ghastlys looked at each other and wrinkled their noses.
“We are fun!” said Bubble.
“The castle ghosts aren’t here,” said Trouble. “And Mum and Dad are busy.”
“Go Ghastlys!” cried Puff and swooped down to the green.
The others followed. They grabbed sandwiches and made them fly. They sloshed drinks and upturned them on the grass. They got hold of a ball and threw it between them. Three little girls chased after it, giggling and screaming as they went.
“That’s more like it,” said the mother.
The Headless Knight saw them from the tower, and bristled angrily. He zoomed down, followed by Buckle the ghostly butler and the Wailing Lady. They caught the ball and gave it back to the family. They picked up the sandwiches and up righted the drinks.
“Such naughty little ghosts!” screeched the Wailing Lady.
“Their parents should keep them under control,” snapped Buckle the ghostly butler.
“We apologise for the tricks,” said the Headless Knight, rather grandly. He led the Wailing Lady and Buckle the Butler away.
The family heard every word, although they couldn’t see the ghosts.
“We were only playing!” said one little girl.
“Come on children,” said the mother.
“Time to go home,” said the father.
“We want the naughty little ghosts!” cried another little girl.
The picnic was packed up and the children were dragged away to the car park.
The little Ghastlys watched them go.
“The castle ghosts are mean misery-guts,” said Bubble. She gave a cheeky grin. “Come on Ghastlys. Let’s get our own back.”
“We'll make them squirm and squeak and squeal,” said Trouble.
“Let’s play some really brilliant tricks on them,” said Puff, and the little Ghastlys zoomed off to find them.
Chapter 2. Grumpy Old Grouchies
The little Ghastlys waited in the music room for the next group of visitors. The castle ghosts followed the visitors into the room, doing their best to frighten them.
“Now!” shouted Bubble. She blew loudly on a trumpet. Trouble banged the drums, and Puff crashed the xylophone with mallets.
The castle ghosts screeched. The visitors screeched even louder. The Ghastlys giggled, and the visitors screeched again. Ghostly giggles are even scarier than ghostly wailing, for the giggles made the visitors’ hairs stand on end and gave people the shivers.
The visitors tottered off to the café. It was worth paying money to be scared like this.
The castle ghosts didn’t like having tricks played on them, especially when they thought they were working hard.
"Horrid, nasty little ghosts," screeched the Wailing Lady, speaking far more loudly than when she was haunting.
“They should have proper respect for their elders and betters,” snapped Buckle the ghostly butler. “Their parents ought to teach them to behave correctly.”
"They are a disgrace. They scare the visitors far too much,” said the Headless Knight, rather pompously. “It is very bad for the castle if ghosts do too much scaring.”
They floated off to the ghost’s staff room to recover from the shock.
"Now that we’ve stopped being good, let’s really annoy those ghosts,” said Bubble.
"Grumpy old grouchies," said Trouble.
"Let’s mess them up in the staff room!" said Puff.
The little Ghastlys slipped round the staff room door. The castle ghosts were relaxing on ghostly armchairs.
“Their parents should be minding them, instead of giving silly concerts,” screeched the Wailing Lady.
“I’ve a good mind to give ’em a clip round the ear,” snapped Buckle the ghostly butler.
“Lock ‘me in the dungeons,” spluttered the Headless Knight, angrily. “That’ll teach ’em.”
“No good. They’d get
out,” screeched the Wailing Lady.
“You can’t lock ghosts up,” snapped Buckle the ghostly butler. “Ghosts can get out of any tiny crack or cranny.”
“I will go to the woods tonight. I will tell their parents’ silly fans how very badly behaved the children are. Mr and Mrs Ghastly won’t like that one little bit,” said the Headless Knight, rather nastily.
The little Ghastlys crept up behind them.
“Go Ghastlys!” yelled Bubble. Hooting with laughter, they pinched the ghosts' noses, threw their hats on the floor, and pulled their tangled greasy hair.
“Yowl!” yelled the castle ghosts. The little Ghastlys shot out of the door, and were off down the corridors before the castle ghosts got out of their chairs.
“Get 'em!”
“You rascals! Wait till I get my hands on you!”
“I’ll wallop you to kingdom come!”
They hunted for the little Ghastlys, but they couldn’t find them. The little Ghastlys knew the best hiding places, and the castle ghosts soon gave up.
“They want to upset Mum and Dad,” said Bubble. “It’s time we did something really wicked.”
“Some amazing mischief,” said Trouble. “Something really gruesome and totally ghastly.”
"Let’s hide the head of the Headless Knight!" cried Puff. The Headless Knight liked to carry his head under his arm. “If he hasn’t got his head, he won’t be able to talk to Mum and Dad’s fans.”
They found the Headless Knight having a quiet moment alone on the green. His head was on the grass beside him. They sneaked up and snatched the head. They buzzed away and hid it in the suit of armour in the main hall.
The knight couldn’t see where he was going without it. He walked right into the moat, and wasn’t found until early the next day.
There was a huge rumpus after that, with the castle ghosts dragging Mr and Mrs Ghastly away from their rehearsals. They told Mr and Mrs Ghastly that if they couldn’t control their children, they would all have to go.
“This is outrageous!” cried Mrs Ghastly.
“My dear,” said Mr Ghastly to Mrs Ghastly. “It’s time for us to leave the castle. Your wonderful talents are not appreciated here. We will find somewhere better to live.”
“We most certainly will,” said Mrs Ghastly, and she stuck her spiky nose into the air. Then, accompanied by cheers and jeers from the castle ghosts, she led her family out of the castle, down the hill and into the town.
Chapter 3. Looking For A Home
The Ghastlys arrived at a street of new homes. They were all the same and lined up like dolls’ houses. The windows sparkled in the morning sunlight.
“We might as well try one,” said Mrs Ghastly.
“If you think so, my dear,” said Mr Ghastly. “They don’t look like your sort of place.”
The little Ghastlys made faces at each other. They wanted to live somewhere exciting. These houses looked very dull.
Mrs Ghastly slipped in through the open window of number 33. The other Ghastlys followed. The window led straight to a bright tiled kitchen with glossy surfaces.
“Too shiny," said Mrs Ghastly. "No stones or bricks. No floor boards for us to slip through, and this ceiling is far too low. It makes the place very gloomy.”
“You are right as always, my dear,” said Mr Ghastly.
Mrs Ghastly sang a high pitched “ ‘Tra-la-la.’ ”
“Dreadful sound quality,” she said.
“Indeed, my dear,” said Mr Ghastly.
Bubble jumped into a pot of chocolate spread and made brown head prints, elbow prints and hand prints all over the worktop.
They drifted into the living room. There was a large TV screen with red and white lights and switches, boxes and buttons. Trouble pounced on them and turned them on. The screen filled with flickering pictures.
Two people hurtled down the stairs into the living room.
“Who’s’at?” yelled one.
“Burglars!” yelled the other.
“How rude,” said Mrs Ghastly, looking them up and down. “Not our sort of people.”
“I fear we are not welcome, my dear,” said Mr Ghastly.
To the people the voices seemed to come from nowhere. They screamed, then tumbled out of their own front door.
Puff tweaked the tail of a ginger cat on a chair. The cat swiped at her with one claw. She giggled because the claw went right through her.
A small crowd had gathered in front of the house and the Ghastlys heard the siren of a police car.
“Come along,” said Mrs Ghastly, haughtily. “We will try somewhere else. We have a concert tonight. I want to be settled in a new home before then.”
The Ghastlys floated out through an open window, down the garden and over the fence at the other end.
Chapter 4. Still Looking For A Home
The Ghastlys drifted across a park. They spied a block of flats.
“That’s more like it,” said Mrs Ghastly. “Stylish. Good high towers. Much higher than that stupid castle.”
She flattened herself out, squeezing under the crack at the bottom of the entrance door.
Mr Ghastly followed, going through the wider gap at the side of the door. He huffed and puffed. He was rather stout and getting through cracks wasn’t easy.
The flats didn’t look at all exciting to the little Ghastlys. Bubble drew a face on a ground floor window. Trouble blew a pile of leaves at the door and Puff kicked up a cloud of gravel on the path.
Then they too slipped under the door. Ahead were a lift and a staircase. They saw Mrs Ghastly gliding up the stairs.
“Delightfully high ceiling. It goes up and up like in a theatre. Excellent for operatic practice,” she said.
She stopped and sang her high “ ‘Tra-la-la’.” It sounded loud and it echoed back at the little Ghastlys. They put their hands over their ears. They didn’t like singing, and opera was the worst singing of all.
“My dear, how do you sing so gloriously after being squashed by that door?” asked Mr Ghastly.
A man came out of one of the flats. He looked up and saw the grey floating people-shaped clouds. He let out a squawk, scooted back inside and slammed the door.
The Ghastlys floated up to the top floor, 10 stories up. On the landing were two doors, one on the left and one on the right. Mrs Ghastly slipped inside the door on the right.
“My dear,” said Mr Ghastly, “I must protest. I can’t squash myself into so many thin places in one day.”
“It is a very nice place,” called Mrs Ghastly through the door.
So, grunting and squeezing Mr Ghastly flattened himself against the edge of the door and got himself into the apartment.
Mrs Ghastly was staring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. They were wide open and led to a balcony. Mrs Ghastly could see right over the castle and the woods to the fields and sea on the far side. “Most agreeable,” she said.
Mr Ghastly took one look and turned his back on the windows.
“No, no,” he said. “Too much open space, my dear. It makes me feel quite ill.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs Ghastly. “You are never ill. Why there is even a piano.” She soared across and trilled the piano keys. “Do sing along,” she said.
Mr Ghastly joined in. They sang a song about an apple tree, and he felt a little better.
Loud banging came from the other side of the wall.
“I must say,” said Mr Ghastly, “what with the squeezing in and out and the space and now the neighbours, this is a most unpleasant place to be.”
People poked their heads out of windows in the next block.
“Hey you, shut that racket up!”
“Put the cat out of its misery!”
“Call the ambulance, someone’s in agony!”
“Quite definitely not our sort of place, my dear,” said Mr Ghastly. “People here do not appreciate your wonderful voice.”
Whilst Mr Ghastly squeezed himself back out of the side of the door, the little Ghastl
ys went exploring in the neighbour’s flat. Bubble blew duvets and towels about, Trouble tossed pictures off the walls, and Puff tipped glasses off a tray making a deafening crash. People screeched and squealed in a highly satisfactory way.
The little Ghastlys found a pair of trainers. Bubble made the right trainer jump in the air, Trouble the left, and then Puff tied the laces of both together.
The family peeked round a corner at them, horrified. One lady fell down in a faint and had to be revived with water splashed in her face.
“Yay, Ghastlys!” shouted Bubble.
“Amazing mischief!” cried Trouble.
“Who wants to be good when being bad is so much fun?” yelled Puff at the top of her voice, frightening the people even more.
Giggling, they joined their parents outside the block of flats.
“What have you been doing?” asked Mr Ghastly suspiciously. “Don’t scare people who are not expecting it.”
“We like scaring people,” said Bubble.
“But Dad, we scared people at the castle,” said Trouble.
“That’s different. They paid to be scared,” said Mr Ghastly.
“But, Mum, Dad, we’re fed up with looking for a new home,” said Puff, glumly.
“Yes, it is tiresome,” said Mrs Ghastly. “People get everywhere. You’d think they would leave just one home for us.”
Chapter 5. I Am Not Going Back To That Castle
The family blew about the town. They tried a canal boat, a caravan and a grocer’s shop. They floated around offices, and warehouses, and buzzed through cafés and department stores. Something was wrong with every place. It was too light or too small or too high or there were too many people, or too difficult to get in or out.
And none of them were exciting.
“Whatever happens, I am not going back to that castle,” said Mrs Ghastly. “I’d rather live on the moon than go anywhere near those ungrateful, hateful castle ghosts.”
It was evening when they floated by Alfonso’s Italian Restaurant. Coloured lights lit up the front. A boy was putting a menu on the outside stand. He looked in their direction, and his mouth fell open. He dropped the menu and scuttled inside.
Italian operatic music drifted out of the door. Mr and Mrs Ghastly paused to listen. Mrs Ghastly hummed along with the tune.
The little Ghastlys shot round the corner from the restaurant. They didn’t want to listen to Italian opera. They heard enough of that from their parents.
The Ghostly Ghastlys Book 1: Finding A Home Page 1