Oh, not that as well, thought Tom, putting his glasses back on with trembling fingers. Nervously he looked across at Mr. Lovely, who was standing absolutely motionless.
“Frozen through and through!” declared Hetty Hyssop. “We’ve got to get him to the fireplace — quickly!”
It took all their combined strength to haul the big, fat man over to the fire. Then Hetty Hyssop took a little bottle of red liquid out of her bag and dripped three drops of it onto Mr. Lovely’s ice-cold nose. “My special defrosting potion,” she explained. “I made it specially to treat people frozen by IRGs.” She looked around, shaking her head. “Of course,” she muttered. “All the lightbulbs have blown again. Time to light the candles.”
Tom sank wearily down into an armchair while Hetty Hyssop positioned her candles.
“Ohboyohboyohboyohboyohboyohboy,” he sighed once more. His hands shook. So did his arms. And his legs. In fact, everything trembled. He felt like human jelly.
Mr. Lovely, on the other hand, was still standing stock-still by the fire. But his lips were no longer blue, and the tip of his nose was slowly turning pink.
Hetty Hyssop looked at her watch. “Things should be quiet for the moment. A dose of graveyard dirt that size puts most IRGs out of action for at least two hours. That gives us enough time to think about what to do next. I …”
She was interrupted by a loud crash. It came from the hall. And it was followed by a gruesome laugh.
“Nooooooo!” howled Hugo and disappeared under the carpet in a flash. Hetty Hyssop and Tom ran to the door and peered out. What they saw was not for the fainthearted.
The whole hall was illuminated by a hideous moldy green light. The IRG, as vast as a hot-air balloon, was floating up by the ceiling, smashing the chandelier.
“Ten minutes!” moaned Hetty Hyssop. “The dirt only worked for ten minutes. That’s my whole plan scuppered!”
The IRG took a nosedive to the staircase, slid up the banisters with an earsplitting screech, and raced back down with jet-propelled speed.
“Woooooooaaaaaaaaargghhhhhhh!” it screeched, juggling a gigantic cupboard and two tables before smashing them against the wall with an excited yell.
“Time for a little test!” whispered Hetty Hyssop, taking an apple out of her coat pocket and letting it roll surreptitiously into the hall. When the IRG spotted the apple, it immediately dropped the chest of drawers it had just been working on and emitted a delighted grunt. Then, quick as lightning, it grabbed the apple and threw it into its wide-open mouth.
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmm!” it grunted.
“Aha!” Hetty Hyssop whispered in Tom’s ear. “It’s a Gobble-IRG. This could be our chance!”
The IRG raced back up the stairs. At the top, it took off its head and threw it down the stairs. Bump-bump-bump, the head rolled toward the drawing room door, giggling gruesomely. The yellow eyes looked straight at Tom.
“Squint, young friend, squint!” cried Hetty, springing up and kicking the ghost’s head back to the staircase like a soccer ball. Then, quick as a flash, she sprang back into the drawing room, grabbed the bucket, and placed herself threateningly in the doorway.
The head rolled toward the stairs, wailing. With a terrible screech, the IRG shot down the stairs, grabbed it with its moldy green fingers, and put it back where it belonged. Then it came floating slowly, ominously slowly, toward the two ghosthunters. Tom trembled so hard that he bit his tongue.
“Baaaaaaaaah!” the IRG groaned. “Yooooouuuuu waaaaaaiiiiiiit!” Its voice sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well. A very, very deep well.
“You can stop showing off right now!” Hetty Hyssop replied, her voice as calm as if talking to a huge, slimy ghost was the most normal thing in the world. “All this crying and flying and furniture-destroying doesn’t impress me in the slightest.”
It does me, thought Tom. The stench of the IRG made him dizzy and that wretched squinting gave him a terrible headache. As if that was not enough, he noticed, much to his horror, that his hands were covered in blue spots.
“Goooooo aaaaaawaaaaaay!” bellowed the IRG, growing as high as the ceiling.
“You go away!” Hetty Hyssop retorted. “You go today.” And while she spoke, she grabbed some graveyard dirt in one hand and pulled a perfume atomizer from under her coat with the other.
The IRG shook with sneering laughter and smashed a windowpane. But its yellow eyes flickered, worried, between the bucket and the atomizer.
“The scent of violets,” Hetty Hyssop called out to it, “makes ghost skin terribly itchy. And you’ve already sampled my graveyard dirt.”
“Paaaaaah!” grunted the IRG. “Thaaaaat’s nothing. But weeeeee’re in for lots more fun together toooooonight!”
A hideous smile played around the corners of its ugly mouth and then — whoosh! — it vanished. Leaving the hall pitch-black and silent.
“It’s gone!” Tom looked around, gobsmacked.
“Yes, but not for long, I fear,” said Hetty Hyssop. “This rascal wants to play a bit of cat-and-mouse with us. But I do believe I know how to get rid of him now. Oh yes! Though it’s turning into a mighty dangerous business!”
13
They returned to the drawing room on shaky legs. Mr. Lovely had thawed out and was sitting in front of the embers with his nose buried in a handkerchief.
“That’s the fifth time it’s frozen me!” he sniffed. “I’ll end up with pneumonia!”
“You should just thank your lucky stars that nothing worse has happened to you!” Hetty Hyssop put her half-empty bucket and the atomizer on the table and flopped down on the sofa. “If you hadn’t kept your eyes shut, it would have exploded you — no two ways about it!”
“Wh-what?” stammered Mr. Lovely, horrified. “Explode? But — but that’s terrible! Hideous!”
“It’s gone?” Hugo emerged from under the carpet as pale as vanilla. “Have you finally gotten rid of it?”
“Just you keep quiet!” Tom snapped. “Fat lot of help you are. We risk being blown up or deep-frozen for you, and you crawl under the carpet!”
“Psst!” hissed Hetty Hyssop.
A faint scratching came from above their heads. And then suddenly an earsplitting racket broke loose. The radio started blaring; the television sprang to life; and Mr. Lovely’s alarm clock began bleeping nonstop.
“Don’t panic!” cried Hetty Hyssop amidst all the chaos. “It’s just a harmless machinery haunting! IRGs find this highly amusing!”
Exactly at that moment a greenish arm burst through the ceiling directly above her.
“Watch out!” yelled Tom. He grabbed the atomizer, though his hands were still shaking, and sprayed half its contents onto the wobbling fingers.
“Aaaaaarghhh!!” The IRG’s screech echoed through the ceiling, and the spooky hand disappeared into thin air before their very eyes. The radio, the TV, and the alarm clock fell silent.
“Urgh! Violets! On top of everything else!” wailed Hugo, scratching his pale, wobbly body.
Even Hetty Hyssop was somewhat green around her pointy nose. “My dear Tom,” she said. “You did amazingly well. Thanks so much.”
“Oh, that … that was nothing,” Tom murmured, but his cheeks burned with pride.
Mr. Lovely sneezed violently. “So what’s the plan?” he asked, looking nervously at the ceiling.
“You’ll see in a minute,” Hetty Hyssop said in a low voice. She took a pen and paper out of her pocket and began to write by the light of a candle. Tom and Mr. Lovely looked over her shoulder, all agog. Even Hugo stopped moaning and floated across. And this is what they read:
Dear friends!
I chose the written Word to tell you my plan because the IRG is undoubtedly eavesdropping on us. Read quickly, as we need to destroy this note as soon as possible!. As Tom and I discovered in our little experiment, this IRG were dealing with is a so-called Gobble-IRG, and is very interested in food.
Mr. Lovely started nodding vigorously. “Yes, yes!” he wh
ispered. “It keeps eating all my cookies!”
Hetty Hyssop raised a warning finger to her lips and carried on writing:
As the IRG, astonishingly enough, barely reacts to the external application of graveyard dirt, we have to get it to EAT some. However, I must stress that this has never been done before, as IRGs have a most refined palate. After previous attempts one specimen spat the bait out on the spot and became very, very angry — with serious consequences for its pursuer. Therefore all our hopes rest on you, Mr. Lovely!! You have to invent a cookie that is so irresistible to ghosts that the IRG gobbles it up on the spot. Our friend Hugo will advise you, as he most certainly knows most about ghosts’ tastes. You have not more than an hour. Tom and I Will use all the methods at our disposal to keep the IRG away from the kitchen for that long. That, my friends, is my plan. We don’t have another chance. Short of running away, that is.
Hetty Hyssop looked inquiringly at her three coconspirators.
Tom nodded. “OK!” he whispered.
“I’ll do my best,” whispered Mr. Lovely.
Hugo wobbled around a bit, but then he nodded as well.
“Good!” Hetty Hyssop smiled. “Then I’ll destroy the note!” But just as she was holding it into the candle flame, an icy wind blew through the room, tore the note from out of her hand, and extinguished all the candles. Moldy green light radiated from the embers of the fire.
“The note!” cried Hetty Hyssop. “Quick! We have to find it!”
But Tom and Mr. Lovely fumbled around in the darkness in vain. A gruesome moaning came from the fireplace, and the IRG stuck its head out, grinning.
“Hahahahoooohahahahahaha!” it laughed. Its eyes glowed like car headlights.
With all the courage born of despair, Tom rushed toward the monster, his hands filled with graveyard dirt, and sprinkled the wobbling body with the dark dirt.
“Aaaaaaaaargh!” howled the IRG — so loudly that Tom’s ears almost dropped off. Hissing like a deflating balloon, the ghost crumpled up, but with its remaining strength it touched Tom’s arm. He stumbled and fell. His left arm was as stiff as an icicle. But the IRG disappeared through the wall, still howling.
Hetty Hyssop struck a match. She lit the candles again, looked around her — and flopped onto the sofa, shattered.
“Gone!” she murmured. “That’s it. We’ve lost.”
Tom pulled himself together and held out his stiff arm to her. “Could you just drop some of your special thawing-out stuff on this?”
“Of course, my dear!” Hetty Hyssop hastily searched for the little bottle and put a few drops of the bloodred elixir onto his arm. “You really are an extraordinarily brave young man and quite a gifted ghosthunter. But sadly all this bravery won’t get us any further. All we can do now is try to escape before this ghost turns us all into ice sculptures.” With a sad smile she shook her head. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me in my entire career.”
“So do you think,” Mr. Lovely sniffled into his handkerchief, “that we have to leave the house? But what about all my baking gear, all my books and cake tins, my sugar decorations, my …”
“Leave them,” Hetty Hyssop interrupted him. “We have to be out of here before midnight.”
“Nonsense!” came a voice from under the sofa. “What a load of nonsense!” And with a smug grin Hugo floated out and let Hetty’s handwritten note flutter down onto her lap.
“Oh, that’s brilliant!” cried Mr. Lovely. “Quite brilliant!”
But with a warning glance Hetty Hyssop pointed to the ceiling, and then held the note quickly to the candle flame again. This time, luckily, nothing happened, and all that remained of their secret plan was a handful of ashes. Satisfied, Hetty Hyssop brushed them off the table. “Tom? Mr. Lovely? Hugo? Are you all ready?”
The coconspirators nodded.
“Good!” whispered Hetty Hyssop. “Then let’s teach this wretched IRG a ghosthunting lesson it will not forget for the rest of its slimy existence!”
14
The entrance hall was filled with darkness when Tom and Hetty Hyssop stepped out of the drawing room. A faint clattering could be heard from the kitchen. Mr. Lovely was already at work.
Hetty Hyssop checked her IRG sensor — and smiled.
“We’re in luck, Tom,” she whispered. “According to the IRG sensor, our friend’s upstairs. Which means all we’ve got to do is make sure he stays up there for another hour. Here —” she pulled two hats out of her unfathomable handbag “— miner’s helmets. They’ve got a little lamp on the front of them. Very practical!”
When Tom put one on, though, it slipped almost down to his nose.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid they don’t come in smaller sizes,” whispered Hetty Hyssop. “Are we all ready? Violet perfume? Graveyard dirt? IRG sensor?”
Tom nodded and felt for the last bit of graveyard dirt in his jean pockets. The rest was with Mr. Lovely in the kitchen, ready to be turned into a portion of irresistible ghost-cookies. “Good. Then let’s go!”
With shaking knees Tom followed the old lady up the big staircase. It was a quarter to nine. The higher up they went, the colder it became. The last few steps were covered with snow.
“A quite common effect of IRG breath,” Hetty Hyssop whispered while her boots sank deep into the snow. At the top of the stairs a vast gallery awaited them, stretching around the large hall, with numerous doors, separated from the big drop by nothing but narrow banisters. Tom leaned against them and looked down. The darkness in the hall below was like a black sea.
Hetty Hyssop held out her sensor — and signaled him to follow her. She turned to the left. Side by side they crept over the snowy carpet to the first door. Tom held his IRG sensor tight. It seemed to get colder with every step. Quite an alarming feeling. The door they approached hung off its hinges and the room behind it lay deep in snow. The furniture was stacked up as if a giant child had made a pile of bricks, and a shredded carpet hung from a lamp.
“Good job!” Tom’s voice sounded slightly shaky — as shaky as his knees.
Surprisingly the room behind the next door looked almost untouched. No snow, just hoarfrost, no damaged or piled-up furniture … and the bed in front of the iced-up window looked as if it hadn’t been slept in for at least a hundred years.
“Our slimy friend obviously doesn’t like this room,” Tom whispered hoarsely.
“Well observed! And there’s the reason.” Hetty Hyssop pointed at a massive mirrored wardrobe standing behind the door. It didn’t have so much as a scratch on it. “Remember this room, Tom,” she whispered. “If the IRG chases us, that wardrobe will be a first-rate place to hide.”
Tom cleared his throat — and nodded. “If the IRG chases us . . .” His knees felt as wobbly as if he had turned into a ghost himself.
Behind the next few doors they found nothing but smashed-up furniture, upside-down pictures, and books covered in slime — and with every step Tom’s IRG sensor grew colder… .
They had already left the staircase far behind when they suddenly heard something behind the seventh door: the most gruesome piano plunking accompanied by a song that made every single hair on Tom’s head stand up and brought tears to his eyes.
As quietly as possible they crept closer. Only the snow crunched slightly under their shoes.
“Quite a horrible singer, isn’t it?” Hetty Hyssop whispered. “Well, we’ll make sure that very soon it won’t feel like singing anymore.” Then she took a bundle of extralong sparklers out of her bag and planted them in the snow outside the door. Tom watched her in amazement.
“Don’t watch me, watch the IRG, young man,” Hetty Hyssop muttered. “I’m just taking all necessary precautions.”
Obediently Tom peeped through the keyhole. The whole room was bathed in luminous mold green, evaporating from the IRG’s huge body. The ghost itself floated above a grand piano, wildly hammering away at the keys with its wobbly fingers. Its head, meanwhile, lay in an armchair, brawling out its hideous s
ong.
“It doesn’t look like it’s in the mood for departure,” Tom reported in a whisper. “It’s even taken its head off again!”
“Fine!” Hetty Hyssop whispered back. “Then I’ll just have a quick nose around the other rooms while you keep watch here. If the IRG comes out before I get back, light the sparklers right away and spray violet perfume all over it. Only use the graveyard dirt as a last resort! I sha’n't be long!” Then she disappeared into the darkness.
Well, knowing my luck, it’ll be out any second now, thought Tom. And at the same moment — the IRG stopped singing. The sudden silence made Tom’s heart almost stop as well. His IRG sensor felt so cold that it seemed to be frozen to his skin. Trembling he bent and peeped through the keyhole again. The IRG was still there. It was just chucking its head into the fruit bowl with a great curving throw. But then it suddenly put its head back on and wobbled toward the door.
“Curses!” Tom hastily stepped behind the line of sparklers Hetty Hyssop had planted in the snow. He stuffed his trembling fingers into his jean pocket and pulled out a box of matches. Fssshhh! The first sparkler fizzed long white needles of light into the darkness. Quite impressive — obviously a very special kind of ghosthunting sparklers — but Tom’s hands shook so hard when he tried to light another that he dropped the box and all the matches fell into the snow. Nonononono!!! Desperately he was kneeling down to pick them up … when moldy light suddenly colored the snow with ghastly green. The IRG.
Squint, Tom, squint!he thought while he looked up in terror. The IRG was looming above, staring first at him and then at the lone sparkling sparkler. It seemed hypnotized by it. Tom’s heart beat like a drum.
What now? The room with the mirrored wardrobe? Out of reach. The IRG blocked the way. And he wouldn’t be able to light the other sparklers with those wet matches. Idiot! he thought. Idiotidiotidiot!
The IRG gulped as if the sparkler’s light needles made it sick. Maybe I can still run through and get to the wardrobe? Tom thought while he was still squinting down his nose, his mind almost paralyzed with panic. Didn’t people in movies run through ghosts all the time? In fact the IRG looked slightly transparent … and dizzy. But then the one sparkler went out and the huge ghost let out a satisfied groan — and grinned. A hideous, limb-trembling, teeth-chattering, heartbeat-stopping grin.
Ghosthunters and the Incredibly Revolting Ghost Page 5