Fury's Ghost

by Sue Perkins

  FURY’S GHOST

  by

  Sue Perkins

  Copyright © 2016 Sue Perkins

  Editor: Belinda Mellor

  Cover Art Copyright 2018

  All rights reserved.

  Except for use in any review no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher or author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published 2018

  by Caishel Books

  www.caishelbooks.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Other Middle Grade Books by Sue Perkins

  Dedication and Acknowledgment | Thanks to Joan, Barb and Belinda for all their suggestions and help.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  If you enjoyed this book, you might also | enjoy these other books by Sue Perkins:

  FURY’S ISLAND | CHAPTER ONE

  SPIRIT STEALER | 1 | GRAND OPENING

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Other Middle Grade Books by Sue Perkins

  Fury

  Fury’s Ghost

  Fury’s Island

  Dragon World Series

  Dragon World Box Set

  Dragon Flames

  Dragon Clans

  Dragon Ice

  Adri’s Journey

  Middle Grade Books

  Spirit Stealer

  Reva’s Quest

  Ghost Bus

  Lost on Disc – Microlands Series 1

  Disc Chase – Microlands Series 2

  Dedication and Acknowledgment

  Thanks to Joan, Barb and Belinda for all their suggestions and help.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fury slumped down on the bench on the veranda of the old house. A stubborn look crossed her face and, with hands jammed into the pockets of her jeans, she stretched her legs in front of her, resting her sneakers on the railing.

  Why did they have to drag me here? I could have stayed in the city with Aunt Jemma, but no – I have to come to Cave. It’s such a backwater. My friends at home will forget me, and I’m living miles out in the country so there’s no chance of making new friends.

  Afraid her mother would find her more boxes to unpack, Fury stomped off down the garden. A swing hung from a branch of a huge oak tree and Fury sat and faced the house, pushing herself backward and forward. Tears sprang to her eyes asshe pulled on the ropes, sending the swing higher and higher into the golden oak leaves of autumn. Eventually, the attic windows came into view. She rubbed her eyes against her shoulder as a shadow in one of the windows caught her attention.

  What’s that? No, it’s not a shadow. It’s a person.

  It looked like an old woman dressed in grey, with hair and skin the same colour. Fury skidded to a halt and jumped to the ground.

  How dare anybody be in our house? It doesn’t matter if I don’t like the house and don’t want to live here. Nobody else gets to invade it without our knowledge.

  Fury almost knocked her mother over as she stormed through the hallway and sped up the stairs two at a time. On the attic floor she hesitated, trying to work out the location of the window with the figure. Counting doors, Fury stumbled to a halt in front of a heavy tapestry hanging from ceiling to floor. The drapery proved too heavy to lift and it fell back every time she managed to raise it a few inches. Her bottom hit the floor with a thump as she flopped down in defeat and frowned at the hanging.

  The picture on the tapestry came into focus. The colours had faded but she could still make out people and buildings.

  Oh, I see. It’s Cave as it must have looked several decades ago. Fury searched for their house, which stood several miles out from the edge of settlement. There it is and there’s people standing on the veranda.

  She stood and moved closer to examine the tiny figures. A man with two little girls stood at the top of the steps leading from the garden to the veranda. All were dressed in clothes of the period. The man had a bushy beard and he stood with a hand on each of the girls’ shoulders. One girl stood taller than the other, and each had their hands clasped primly in front of their white pinafores. Despite their tiny faces, she could see all the figures looking grimly toward the garden without a smile between them.

  I wonder who they are? This is interesting but it’s not helping me find the person I saw from the garden. Is the tapestry hiding the door? How can there be a room without a door and how can someone be in the room?

  Maybe the adjoining room had a connecting door. Fury went through the second entrance, but this square room had no openings except for the window and the entrance door.

  “Fiora, where are you?” Her mother’s voice floated up the stairs and Fury gritted her teeth.

  Why must she use my real name? Nobody calls me Fiora except Mum and sometimes Dad.

  From an early age she had refused to answer to her given name. Eventually her temper tantrums at the use of Fiora gave her the nickname Fury.

  “I’m up here.” Fury walked unhurriedly down the stairs, wondering what her mother wanted.

  I don’t think I’ll tell Mum about the figure until I have proof. Otherwise she’ll think I’m dreaming up a reason not to stay here.

  “It’s dinner time. Go back up and tell Jonah, then wash your hands and join us at the table.”

  Fury and her older brother clattered down the stairs to the kitchen. For the first time in days, the family of four sat down to a proper meal. Since moving in, they’d had no gas and, despite rummaging in the boxes, had not been able to find the pots and pans. Now all services had been connected and they could eat around the kitchen table.

  At bedtime Fury thought over the puzzle of the missing attic door. She hadn’t known about this house before they moved here but her mother’s family had owned it for over a century. An elderly spinster had left the house to her descendants with the condition it couldn’t be sold. A trust fund had been left for maintenance and repairs and eventually the house had been modernised with electricity. Before her family’s arrival, an extension with a modern bathroom and kitchen had been added.

  The spinster’s instructions stated that any of her sister’s descendants could live in the house, but there were to be no structural alterations inside and all the existing furniture must be left in its present location.

  Could the person I saw be the ghost of the spinster? Shut away in the attic and left there to die?

  A shiver went down Fury’s spine as the eerie idea crossed her mind. She turned over in the massive antique bed and firmly pushed any thoughts of the house, the spinster and the ghostly figure from her mind. Eyes firmly closed she willed herself to sleep.

  Next day her mother dragged her into town to enrol for school.

  “I still don’t see why I couldn’t stay in Christchurch with Aunt Jemma and go to my old school. You treat me like a baby and seem to forget I’m nearly fifteen.” Fury stared out the car window as they drove home.

&nbs
p; “I’m not going over it again, Fiora. We stay together as a family and if Dad has to come here for six months’ work, we all come with him.” Her mother turned into the driveway of the old house.

  Fury looked up at the three-story building. The ground floor had a wrap-around veranda with a metal roof to protect users from the sunshine and rain. The next floor windows overlooked the veranda roof and the attic floor had dormer windows sticking up from the slate roof.

  Her eyes were automatically drawn to the window where the figure had appeared. Nothing moved, and within moments her mother had driven up to the front of the house and stopped by the steps leading up to the front door, cutting off Fury’s view of the attic floor. They’d done some grocery shopping while they were in town and Fury helped her mother carry the bags into the house and down the hall to the kitchen.

  “Mum, tell me again about the woman who left the house to your family. She was an ancestor of yours, wasn’t she?”

  “I suppose you could call her an ancestor, despite it being more than one hundred years ago. The house belonged to a spinster called Ellen Mune. Her sister Margaret had married and had a family so their father left the house to Ellen. The father owned a lot of businesses in the area.

  A short while after her eightieth birthday the old lady and her maid disappeared. The relatives searched the house but could find no trace of either woman or clues to where Ellen and the maid had gone. After seven years the courts declared her dead and Margaret’s family tried to sell the house, but Ellen’s will stated it had to stay in the family. Any of the descendants could live in it, but they couldn’t sell it.” Her mother put the last of the groceries in the fridge. “Margaret was my great, great grandmother on my mother’s side of the family. Over the generations the boys’ side died out and apparently I’m the last direct descendent of the Mune family, which means you and your brother will be the only descendants who can use the house.”

  “Jonah’s welcome to it, it’s too far out of the city for me.” Fury turned and left the kitchen muttering to herself. “Who’d want to stay in this old place with its heavy furniture and gloomy rooms? I’m not allowed to even put my posters or artwork up on my bedroom walls.”

  Curiosity drew her to the attic floor for another attempt to lift the tapestry.

  Perhaps if I get a chair I can hoist the material up and drape it over the back.

  Fury dragged a heavy chair from one of the other attic rooms across the landing to the tapestry. Heaving on the corner, she struggled to lift the bulky material onto the chair, then tugged a bit more up onto the sturdy back. After making sure the tapestry wouldn’t fall, Fury knelt on the floor and examined the wall behind it.

  Not a wall. It is a door. Where’s the handle?

  Half way up the door Fury saw a doorknob. Her hand reached out and tried to turn the handle.

  “Drat, it’s stuck.”

  Her words came out too loud and Fury shut her mouth with a snap. Her mother used sayings picked up in the past from elderly relatives and one Fury remembered was a thick silence. She’d never understood the meaning before, but this now became clear. The silence on the attic floor felt thick and menacing. Fury put her ear to the wood but couldn’t hear a sound on the other side. Maybe the door acted as a soundproof.

  Fury rolled onto her hands and knees to get up from her position by the door, and her gaze automatically flicked to the floor. At the bottom, the door didn’t quite meet the floorboards and as she pushed herself upright a shadow passed along the gap on the other side.

  There is someone in there? I wonder if it’s a ghost? Do ghosts cast shadows?

  “Fury, Mum wants you.” Her brother’s voice bellowed up the stairs followed by the soft voice of her mother remonstrating with him for shouting.

  As she dropped the tapestry into place, Fury decided to think things over before trying to open the door. What if the ghost – if it was a ghost – wasn’t friendly?

  I guess it’s trapped in the attic room. Best make sure it’s not going to cause havoc before I let it out.

  Now she’d made her decision, Fury felt much more at ease with the situation.

  Wonder what Mum wants?

  “You took your time,” her mother commented, when Fury walked into the kitchen.

  “Sorry, I took a look round the attic floor. It doesn’t look as if the rooms have been used up there.”

  “Probably not.” Her mother didn’t sound interested in what her daughter had been doing. “I want you to help me unpack the kitchen boxes. Saucepans, dishes, plates, etc.”

  “How come Jonah doesn’t have to help?”

  “Really. You have to ask? You know how clumsy he is with everything but a football. We’d be eating off paper plates if I got him to help. Come on, it won’t take long if we work together.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Fury shut her locker door and checked her timetable. Her English lesson would be in Room Ten. Hanging from the ceiling were signs indicating the location of various rooms and, taking a deep breath, she followed the arrows. Other students hurried past her, some jostling her, others swerving to avoid a collision.

  I hate joining a school half way through Year Ten. New girl in school. No one to talk to, nobody to sit next to. I hate this school. I hate everything about it.

  Going over it in her mind got the anger out of Fury’s system and made her feel better. Room Ten’s door stood open and Fury hesitated before entering. Voices came from within, talking about what they had done during the holidays.

  Deep breath, girl, then dive straight in.

  Fury entered the room and all the talking stopped. Several girls looked her up and down in a calculating way, some of the boys glanced at her and she wondered if they were assessing if whether she might be considered as date material.

  Fat chance. No one will want to be first to ask the new girl out.

  A cough behind her made her realize she’d blocked the door and Fury moved forward to find a seat.

  The person who had coughed turned out to be the teacher, who walked briskly to stand in front of the board and placed her books on the desk then addressed the class.

  “Today we have a new student. Fiora Laing.”

  Fury cringed at the sound of her real name and waited for the laughter to begin. A few titters came from the rear of the class but were soon quenched by the teacher’s glare in that direction.

  “Fiora comes to us from Christchurch, so I hope you’ll give her a true Timaru welcome. Now to start the lesson we’ll have a test. Fiora, keep up as best you can.”

  The teacher hadn’t even introduced herself, so Fury had no idea what to call her. A test would probably prove how little she knew, but to her surprise this wasn’t the case. It turned out the Timaru class was a term behind her city class so she knew nearly all the answers. Careful not to seem too clever, Fury deliberately answered some of the questions with the wrong answers and her marks were about seventy per cent correct.

  “A little work needed there, Fiora.” The teacher carried on with the lesson until the bell rang to signal the end of the period.

  “Fiora. Where on earth did your parents find such an outlandish name?” A blonde and a brunette had followed her from the classroom. They were heading in the same direction as Fury, so presumably they were taking the same lesson.

  “It’s an old name from my father’s side of the family. Most people call me Fury.”

  “Have you got a wild temper?” the blonde asked. “With your red hair I bet you can be quite volatile. I’m Samantha, by the way. This is Cora.”

  The dark-haired girl nodded acknowledgement.

  “I don’t think my temper is any worse than most people’s. It’s only when I get called Fiora I get annoyed.” Fury decided she liked these two. They didn’t sneer at her, or act superior in any way. “Are you going to the art studio? It’s my class for the next period.”

  “I’m not.” Samantha waved at her friend. “Cora is the arty one. She’s pretty good.”


  Cora, who still had not spoken, blushed at the compliment.

  With a wave of her hand and a “See you later”, Samantha entered the next classroom doorway. Fury and Cora continued until they reached the art studio.

  Fury’s interest in art tended to be in cartoons but based on previous experience, she expected the teacher would concentrate more on landscapes and still life. She and Cora found easels next to each other at the rear of the class and they had just taken their seats when the teacher walked through the door.

  Wow! I’ve never seen a teacher like him before.

  The art master had short-cropped dark hair, a tanned skin and wore denim jeans topped with a check shirt. In fact, he looked absolutely gorgeous.

  “Right you lot, let’s have a bit of hush. We have a new student this morning, Fiora Laing please stand and introduce yourself and tell us what your preference is in art. I’m Mr. Marshall.”

  Fury stumbled to her feet and the whole class turned to look at her. “Please, sir, I prefer to be called by my nickname of Fury.”

  “Okay, Fury it is. What sort of art do you like?”

  “I like to do cartoons. Usually in acrylics although I have done a few watercolours.”

  “Good. You may sit down. Now class, this term we’re going to concentrate on developing your own style. You may choose the area you wish to work in, for example Fury will probably do cartoons. I want you to make the style unique to you so anyone looking at your work can tell immediately it’s yours. You may use whatever medium you like. Acrylics, oils, watercolour, chalk. You choose. If you have any questions then please ask now so we can all get started.” Mr. Marshall looked around the class.

  A few hands were raised and he patiently answered each student’s questions.

  I think I’m going to like this class. It will be great to do what I love and not have to constrict myself to the norm.

  Fury glanced across at Cora’s easel. The other girl had pinned a photo to her board of a jetty reaching out into a misty lake and she had started to sketch the image onto her canvas.