by Mary Arrigan
Mister Lewis shrugged his shoulders. ‘Noisy creatures,’ he muttered and headed back to the trolley.
Strangely enough, when he was gone the horses stopped whinnying.
CHAPTER FIVE
WEDGE AND CRUNCH AGAIN
Together we wheeled the trolley across the bumpy field towards the mill. There was a scruffy-looking boat moored in the river. We laughed when we saw the big, badly painted skull and crossbones flapping on a stick at the rear end of the boat. As we came nearer we could see two guys fishing. They were turned away from us, but there was no mistaking the backs of their bony heads.
‘It’s Wedge and Crunch!’ exclaimed Shane.
‘It’s OK, Shane,’ I said. ‘You’ll sort them out, won’t you, Mister Lewis?’
We both looked around, but there was no sign of our ghostly buddy.
‘Mister Lewis,’ Shane hissed.
But there was still no sign of the only person who could sort out those two bullies.
‘Quick!’ said Shane, wobbling with fear. ‘Let’s move it.’
We tried to turn the trolley around, but it was too late. They’d spotted us. There was no point in running away as they’d catch us anyway because of the trolley.
‘Well well, it’s the dozy duo again,’ said Wedge with a smirky smile. ‘We’ll have to stop meeting like this.’
They both put down their rods, hopped off the boat and came towards us, Crunch waving a cheapo toy sword.
‘Going for a picnic, guys?’ Crunch called out, his bee-stung nose covered with green ointment.
‘Yeah,’ shouted Wedge. ‘What’s all that stuff in the stolen supermarket trolley? Tut, tut, Milo. Won’t Daddy-the-cop throw a fit?’
As they came closer, Shane and myself stood together like a pair of clowns in a circus waiting for someone to throw a bucket of water over them. But the thing that hurt me the most was that Mister Lewis had abandoned us.
‘Milo,’ whispered Shane as I braced myself for the first whack.
‘Shush,’ I said through my clenched teeth. The enemy were almost on us.
‘But Milo,’ Shane hissed. ‘Look behind!’
So I did, and my lungs began working again when I saw a pair of dusty boots beginning to materialise. Just as Wedge grabbed my tee-shirt and Shane was being hassled by Crunch, the almost complete body of Mister Lewis rose up – apart from one side of his head, which was missing!
‘Hello boys,’ he said softly.
Wedge and Crunch froze, then screamed and ran like they’d seen a ghost – which is what they did see, of course.
‘Wait, you chaps!’ Mister Lewis shouted, waving his hat as he wafted after them.
Howling like sick wolves, Crunch and Wedge were racing across the bridge.
Mister Lewis stopped and wafted back to us, most of his head in place again, except for an ear and an eyebrow.
‘Not using your head was a mighty stroke, Mister Lewis. How did you do that?’ I asked.
‘Do what, Milo?’ he asked.
‘Your head,’ laughed Shane. ‘Half of it was missing.’
‘Oh dear, my head,’ sighed Mister Lewis. ‘Not again! Last time that happened was years ago when I first moved into the castle in town.’
‘What’s that got to do with losing heads?’ I asked.
‘Oh,’ Mister Lewis sighed again. ‘It’s a well known fact that moving house is one of the most stressful things in one’s life. And here I am about to move into a derelict old mill. And,’ he went on, ‘the bees, I was sorry about the bees. I just wanted to apologise to those young boys.’
‘You what?’ we both cried out.
‘But … but they’re the ones who snatched the bag,’ I reminded him.
‘I know,’ Mister Lewis sighed again.
‘And why did you disappear, anyway?’ Shane asked. ‘We thought you’d done a runner on us.’
‘I’d never do anything like that to my best friends,’ Mister Lewis said. ‘I disappeared when we saw people on the boat and then I simply decided that I should come together very slowly so that those boys wouldn’t be scared.’
Shane and I hooted with laughter so much that I thought Shane would choke as he rolled around on the grass.
‘Why is that funny?’ Mister Lewis muttered with a scowl.
‘Think about it, Mister Lewis,’ I said, wiping my eyes. ‘How would you feel if you were a kid and you saw boots and legs and skinny hands crawling out of a supermarket trolley?’
Mister Lewis’s frown went as he finally got the picture. ‘Oops,’ he quipped, ‘just as well I didn’t catch up with them, eh?’
CHAPTER SIX
UP THE EERIE STAIRS
There was a KEEP OUT sign hanging sideways on the half-open door of the mill. Inside, it was eerily dark in some places and, apart from pigeons giving the odd warble above our heads, it was silent. The sort of worrying silence like when the principal stomps into the classroom to find out who has drawn the mad, crossed eyes on her photo in the entrance hall, and you’re so scared that you almost put your hand up, even though you didn’t do it.
‘Hmm,’ Mister Lewis mused as he looked around the dreary emptiness in the mill. ‘This place didn’t last long.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Well,’ he went on. ‘When I was a lad there was a dilapidated house right here in this field. Rumour was that it was haunted, so nobody came here – people were more superstitious back in those days. Then, shortly before my unfortunate demise, work began on building a mill, using the stones from the knocked house. I didn’t get to see it, of course,’ he sighed and then paused. ‘But the good part is that I got to have the best friends ever,’ he said, grinning with his yellow teeth.
‘Who were they?’ began Shane.
‘Us!’ I said. ‘Me and you, Shane.’
‘Oh yeah,’ he laughed.
Mister Lewis looked around at the patchy walls and the dirty floor. ‘I think I should like to live upstairs,’ he said. Which meant me and Shane puffing and panting as we pushed and pulled the trolley up the winding, rickety stairs.
When we reached the first landing, there was a loud cackle of hideous screeching. I ducked under the trolley and Shane curled up on the step, his hands over his head and his big bum in the air.
‘It’s all right,’ Mister Lewis laughed. ‘It’s just a couple of crows.’
Sure enough, when I looked up through the skeletal rafters and some missing slates, I saw two screeching crows flapping about like plastic bags in the wind. ‘I knew that,’ I fibbed. ‘I was just checking the wheels of the trolley.’
‘Of course you were, Milo,’ winked Mister Lewis.
‘They look like witches,’ put in Shane, still gaping upwards.
‘You have too much imagination, Shane,’ I muttered. ‘They’re just croaky old crows.’
When we finally got to the top of the stairs, we discovered two doors – but they were locked.
‘There’s probably just old machinery stuff in there, Mister Lewis,’ said Shane. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find somewhere for your old bones.’
But Mister Lewis was totally fed up by now. ‘It’s no use, boys,’ he sighed.
Then I noticed there was a third door around the corner, and this one was slightly open.
‘There’s an unlocked one here,’ I called out, and politely stood back to let Mister Lewis go in first.
‘Bawk, bawk, chicken,’ Shane muttered in my ear. ‘Scaredy cat …’
‘I was just being mannerly,’ I interrupted, hoping my ears wouldn’t light up with the fib. Like Dad says, you’ll always know a liar when the blood surges into his ears while he’s being questioned in court.
‘Ah, this will do nicely,’ Mister Lewis was saying as we followed him in.
There was a musty smell – just like my damp football gear when it’s left in the bag over the Easter holidays – but Mister Lewis said the smell didn’t matter because his nose wasn’t up to much anyway. Other than that, the floor was fairly c
lean and the windows were intact. There was even a small fireplace.
‘This is grand,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘It must have been the watchman’s place. See,’ he went on, his eyes shining with delight, ‘I’m not going to be a derelict down-and-out spook looking longingly through windows or sheltering from the wind behind tombstones. I have a ROOM!’
We helped him to do a bit of cleaning and put his cushions on the floor. I placed his cat statue on the window ledge. After half an hour, the room seemed almost cosy.
‘Well,’ said Shane. ‘That was a good day’s work—’ He didn’t get any further because a loud, creepy droning sound prompted the two of us to back away towards the door, clinging to each other.
‘Ah!’ said Mister Lewis, waving his gloved hands and running to open the window. ‘It’s my bees! I told them where to come. Wait, boys, and say hello to my sweet beauties.’
But we were already halfway down the stairs. I mean, it was OK when they lived high up in the tower, but a cloud of stinging bees buzzing all over a small room is a definite reason to run.
*
Later that night, just as I was sinking into a dream about screaming horses, giant bees and claustrophobic baths, there was a tap-tapping at my window. At first, I thought it was part of my weird nightmare, but when I saw Mister Lewis’s crooked hat and white face, I knew it was for real.
‘Mister Lewis,’ I said as I opened the window, ‘what are you—?’
‘Milo,’ he panted, clutching my arm, ‘it’s the mill – it’s haunted!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
MISS LEE IS ANNOYED
Mum was busy when I went down for breakfast the next morning. She had already punched up the cushions on the bamboo chairs in the sunroom, and now she was washing the china cups that she only uses for special occasions and when Dad’s mum visits.
‘What’s happening, Mum?’ I asked.
‘It’s my turn for the neighbourhood ladies’ afternoon tea,’ she said with the sort of grim sigh that told me I should make myself scarce. Mum doesn’t do fancy buns and cakes. She says there’s no point in putting bakeries out of business. But she always feels that she has to make the effort for the neighbours because they’d suss out the shop stuff. Dad usually stays late in the Garda station on those days.
I called in for Shane on the way to school and told him about Mister Lewis’s big scare.
‘That’s pure daft,’ said Shane. ‘How could one ghost scare another ghost?’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘if you think about it, there are probably decent ghosts and bullying ghosts – just like there are good guys like you and me, and thugs like …’
‘Wedge and Crunch,’ put in Shane. ‘Yeah, that sounds kinda right. So where is Mister Lewis now?’
‘In my wardrobe,’ I sighed.
‘Your wardrobe!’ Shane spluttered. ‘Why does he need to hide in a wardrobe when he can go invisible?’
‘Well,’ I began, ‘when he’s really stressed he has terrible nightmares and he tends to become visible. We just couldn’t take that risk.’
‘Huh?’ Shane stopped and stared at me wide-eyed. ‘Are you mad?’ he screeched. ‘What if your mum—?’
‘That’s the whole point,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t venture into my bedroom. She says that she’d collapse into a coma if she went there, so I have to put my own stuff in the washing basket. And that suits me fine.’
Then I had a brilliant moment. ‘Hey, Shane,’ I said. ‘Mum has some women neighbours coming to our house later on.’
‘I know,’ Shane put in. ‘Gran is bringing one of her African cakes.’
Shane’s gran, Big Ella, makes the most awesome cakes ever. Now Mum would have something good to serve up instead of her crooked tarts and flat buns.
‘While they’re all chattering, Shane,’ I said, ‘you can come up to my room and say hello to Mister Lewis.’
‘Sure thing,’ laughed Shane as we made our way down to our classroom.
After eleven o’clock break Miss Lee lets us ask questions about stuff that’s not on the school curriculum, because she says that it’s sometimes good to talk outside the school books.
‘What was it like in the war, Miss?’ asked Willie Jones, the first to shoot his hand up. ‘Me and my dad watched a film about it on telly. There was a woman in it and Dad said she was just like you, Miss.’
‘Which war, Willie?’ Miss Lee asked, with a puzzled frown.
‘The big one, Miss,’ Willie went on. ‘The one with Hitler. What did you do when the bombs dropped, Miss?’
‘Willie,’ Miss Lee said calmly. ‘When was that war?’
‘Dunno, Miss.’
‘It started in 1939,’ Miss Lee said slowly. ‘And it finished in 1945, Willie. How old do you think I am?’
Willie thought for a while, his face blank.
‘I’m twenty-eight,’ she went on. ‘Now, do the maths, Willie.’
Willie screwed up his eyes as he tried to work out the sums, but the lights in his head were switched off. ‘Dunno, Miss,’ he said after a few seconds. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘go on with the war, Miss. What was it like to be in it?’
We all laughed, especially Miss Lee.
After we settled down, Shane put up his hand. I bit my lip in fear that the question he’d cough up might make everyone holler again.
‘Miss,’ he began. ‘Do you know that old mill near the river?’
‘I do indeed know it, Shane,’ she said.
Good thinking, I thought, giving him an approving nod.
‘Could you tell us a bit about it?’ Shane continued. ‘You know everything about the history of the town,’ he added, just to get on her good side.
There were groans of ‘boring’ and ‘poncy’ from some of the hard guys. Miss Lee quietened them when she suggested switching to sums. There was a hush and we all sighed when she began. Not that the class were interested; it was the dossing that delighted most of them.
Miss Lee cleared her throat. ‘All that land around the mill was owned by the rich Maguire clan, who lived there in a fine house from the sixteen hundreds until the eighteen sixties.’ She went on. ‘They even had their own burial place in a mausoleum they had built on their land—’
‘Us too!’ interrupted Willie Jones. ‘We bury all our cats on our land.’
‘I hope they’re dead,’ someone from the back shouted.
Even Miss Lee laughed at that.
‘Go on with the story, Miss,’ said Shane. ‘Tell us about the mill.’
‘Indeed,’ said Miss Lee. ‘I’m coming to that, Shane. Well, the last of the family was a reclusive old man, Niall Maguire—’
Another hand went up. ‘What does reclusive mean, Miss?’
Miss Lee gave a big sigh. ‘It means that he didn’t mix with people. Apart from a delivery boy who brought him his groceries from the town, nobody was welcomed into the big, rambling house, which gradually began to deteriorate with dampness and crumbling plaster. When he died, Niall was buried with his ancestors.’
‘What happened the house, Miss?’ I asked.
‘A distant cousin from Kildare took over,’ she said. ‘His name was Timothy McDonnell Maguire.’
‘That’s two surnames, Miss,’ someone interrupted. ‘That’s real posh.’
Miss Lee nodded. ‘Some people still like to keep family names from the mother’s side,’ she explained.
‘Well,’ said Tim McCarthy, the guy who sits near me, ‘if people still used two surnames, I would be Timothy Harty McCarthy.’
‘Indeed,’ Miss Lee sighed.
Quick as a flash, Willie Jones called out that Tim could even have THREE surnames. ‘That’d be well posh,’ he added.
Tim grinned with pride. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Cool.’
Guessing exactly where Willie was going with rhyming names, Miss Lee said sharply, ‘That’s enough for now. Get out your maths workbooks.’
We all glared at Willie.
‘But, Miss,’ Shane wailed. ‘What about the mill?’
‘Yes, go on, Miss,’ I added in support.
‘That can wait for another time,’ she said, ‘when we can have a mature conversation.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE BEES
After school, Shane and me were heading home when we spotted Crunch coming out of the supermarket with his mum. His nose was still dotted with green cream. He scowled at us when Shane said hello and asked him sweetly how he was feeling. What was Shane thinking, being all sweet and jolly to our enemy? Of course I had to wade in too. ‘Tough luck,’ I muttered. ‘Poor nose.’
‘None of your business,’ he snarled.
His mum gave him a whack on the ear. ‘You talk good to those nice boys,’ she said.
‘It’s OK, Missus,’ said Shane. ‘We understand. A bee sting is pretty painful.’
‘And two or more are totally painful,’ I added, trying to sound sympathetic.
‘So mind yourself, Crunch,’ said Shane. ‘Bees are dangerous.’
‘Deadly dangerous,’ I added, hoping that would make him think twice before trying to tackle us again.
Even under the green cream, we could see Crunch’s mouth silently muttering stronger words.
His mum saw it too. ‘You say goodbye,’ she said, giving her son another dig. ‘We need to get you home. You don’t want to be late for the bus.’
‘You going somewhere, Crunch?’ I asked. But his mum was pulling him along the street.
‘That felt good,’ laughed Shane as we moved along.
Until next time we see him, I thought. Maybe we should have said nothing. Still, his mum was a feisty lady who liked good manners, so she might be on our side.
When we let ourselves into my house, we gagged at the smell of Mum’s fancy candles in the hall. There was loud chatter and laughter from the sunroom.