Sleepover Girls on Safari

by Angie Bates

  She was already stroking the baby’s head, crooning softly. “You’ll soon be better, and then you’ll be back with all the others.”

  Lyndz is so nuts about animals it’s unbelievable!

  The mother finished the last banana and peered around in the gloom, looking for something.

  “She’s thirsty,” her keeper explained.

  There was a full bucket of water by the door, so Frankie thoughtfully dragged it over.

  “There you go, Mrs Elephant,” she said. “Can you reach it now?”

  The elephant had a good long guzzle of water, then she studied us all thoughtfully. Afterwards, Frankie swore she’d been smiling.

  “You’d better move away!” warned the ranger.

  But it was too late. Before we’d realised what she was going to do, the elephant spurted about a gallon of water all over Emma!

  It sounds really mean, but we all cracked up. I thought Frankie was going to die actually. She was literally holding her sides and howling with laughter. “Emma, you look just like a drowned rat!”

  Poor Emma was soaked through and shivering so I rushed her back to Mrs Weaver.

  “Don’t worry, dear, I always bring spare clothes on school trips,” our teacher comforted her.

  But Emma flatly refused to change out of her outfit. She got quite hysterical about it. I think Mrs Weaver thought Emma was worried about strangers seeing her underwear. But I’ve had time to think about it since then and I don’t think it was an underwear problem at all.

  I think she thought of her hideous combats as her Sleepover Club clothes. She didn’t like us really, but she did admire us. She was desperate to be one of us, even for a day.

  I took Emma back to the coach where I blotted up the worst of the elephant water with paper towels.

  “You’re a good friend, Fliss,” Emma said in a teary voice.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” I said. “Actually I thought you took that really well. You could have gone ballistic when that elephant drenched you. But you didn’t.”

  “They laughed at me,” Emma said miserably.

  “Yeah, but it’s not personal. We laugh at everyone. We laughed at Kenz. You did too.”

  Emma cheered up slightly. “I think I’m going to dream about that peacock chasing Kenny! It was the funniest sight I’ve seen in my life.”

  “You looked quite funny yourself,” I reminded her.

  She gave a funny little grin. “I suppose I did. Thanks for helping. I mean it.”

  “Hurry up, you guys. They’re waiting for us outside the castle!” The other Sleepover Club members had come to find us.

  Kirstin’s eyes were sparkling. “What do you reckon, Fliss? Do you think we’ll see anything spooky?”

  How is it one little word can totally change your mood? One minute you’re sunny and happy and everyone’s best friend. Next minute a wormy doubt wriggles into your mind and takes a nasty lump out of your confidence. All because of one word: “SPOOKY”.

  It had too many “Os”. It made me think of ghostly mouths wailing in the dark. “Ooooh! Ooooh! Ooooh!”

  A shiver went through me as if someone had just dropped an ice cube down my back. Stop it, Fliss, I told myself firmly. Nothing scary is going to happen in the castle. Frankie’s outrageous ghost story wasn’t even true, remember?

  I tried not to picture a wailing, white-faced ghost pulling a terrified child inside the castle wall.

  It couldn’t be true. Could it?

  “Not very good-looking, are they,” Frankie mused.

  “I reckon all the Gawdy family inherited the ugly gene,” agreed Kenny.

  We were standing in the entrance hall to Gawdy Castle. It was nothing like I’d imagined. It was actually disappointingly ordinary.

  The floor was carpeted in a faded rose design that reminded me of my grandma’s sitting room. Huge oil paintings of the Gawdy family hung on all the walls.

  Nature had been really unkind to them, poor things. They all had really sticky-out teeth and practically NO chins.

  “They’re like cartoon characters,” I giggled.

  “The Gawdys go back for generations,” said a disapproving voice. “They’re a very fine old English family.”

  A very pale woman had come up behind us without us noticing. I’m not exaggerating, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a depressing-looking person. She definitely needs a makeover, I thought. Black is SO not her colour. If she just had a little touch of pink, now it would make all the difference.

  Frankie was peering suspiciously behind the woman.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed.

  “Seeing if she casts a shadow. That woman has to be a vampire.”

  “I thought they couldn’t come out in daylight,” I objected.

  “This is the part of the tour where your teacher gets a rest.” The woman glanced around the class and I thought she was going to smile, but she didn’t. “My name is—”

  “Dracula?” Frankie muttered.

  Luckily the woman didn’t seem to hear. “My name is Mrs Skinner and the gentleman standing next to me is Mr Clemency. We’re your guides and in a few moments we’ll be taking you on a tour of this fascinating old castle.”

  Mr Clemency was a jolly elderly man with a curly white beard. He twinkled at us over his glasses.

  “Oh, that’s fair. Not!” hissed Kenny. “Half of us get stuck with Mrs Grim Reaper here, while the rest get Father Christmas!”

  “We could get lucky,” I said hopefully. “We might get Mr Clemency.”

  We weren’t and we didn’t. The lucky fifty per cent of the class walked out into the sunlight with cuddly Mr Clemency. The rest of us followed scary Mrs Skinner up a very gloomy staircase.

  “To who knows where,” Frankie hissed dramatically.

  But in the end our tour guide wasn’t sinister so much as boring.

  “If I hear one more fact about this castle, I’m going to scream,” Kenny complained after half an hour.

  “It’s her voice,” Kirstin explained. “She just drones on. It makes everything sound the same.”

  It was true. If you actually listened to Mrs Skinner’s words she was telling us about genuinely thrilling events, bloody battles and ferocious family feuds. But she could have been reciting stuff out of the telephone book.

  Rosie kept looking around nervously. “Are you sensing anything?” she whispered.

  “Yeah, I’m sensing my brain is slowly going numb,” I whispered back.

  “I meant ghosts, stoopid. If anyone’s going to see the Gawdy Castle ghost, you would.”

  “Rosie, I didn’t really see a ghost,” I explained. “I thought you knew that. I was just trying to stop Emma and Frankie fighting.”

  “You don’t have to pretend, Flissie,” said Rosie. “I saw you, remember. You looked terrified.”

  “I was,” I said truthfully. “I was terrified Frankie would bop Emma on the nose and ruin everything.” I could see Rosie didn’t believe me. “OK, Rosie-posie,” I sighed. “If I see the Gawdy Castle ghost, you’ll be the first to know.”

  We continued down yet another corridor lined with portraits of hunting dogs and dead pheasants.

  “Doesn’t this castle have any dungeons?” Frankie asked our guide.

  Everyone perked up. But Mrs Skinner didn’t seem to hear. “Now we’re going into the kitchens,” she droned. “Where there is a bread oven that predates Henry V.”

  “Wouldn’t want to miss that,” Frankie said in a sarky voice.

  But as we entered the vast barn of a kitchen, Mrs Skinner’s walkie-talkie started to hiss and a muffled voice began to speak.

  “My feet hurt,” Rosie moaned.

  “My ears hurt,” said Kenny. “From listening to that woman.”

  Mrs Skinner spoke briefly into her walkie-talkie. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this tour short to take a personal call in the office,” she told us. “Make your way to the reception hall and wait for the others.”

  And she
hurried off without even a backward look.

  Everyone gave sighs of relief.

  “Excellent,” said Frankie. “We can finally have some fun.”

  Emma looked suspicious. “What kind of fun?”

  “Look, there’s a map of the castle on the wall there. I bet we’ve got at least ten minutes until the other group finishes going round.” Frankie looked incredibly mischievous. “We can go and explore by ourselves. We can go into the secret rooms they don’t want you to know about.”

  Rosie’s eyes grew wide. “You want us to go off on our own?”

  “I certainly do,” said Frankie. “It’s time we had some action.”

  “But what about the story?” Rosie gasped. “That poor boy who was pulled into the wall?”

  “It wasn’t true, Rosie,” said Emma in her M&Ms voice. “I told you before. It was just a stupid story.”

  “Bet you’d be scared if it happened to you,” said Frankie rudely.

  “I wouldn’t,” said Emma at once. “I can do anything you can, Francesca Thomas.”

  “Oh, really?” said Frankie. “Then prove it.”

  The two girls glared at each other.

  “Erm, guys,” I said.

  “Those girls have the weirdest friendship,” Kirstin said in my ear. “I mean right now you’d think they hated each other, wouldn’t you?”

  “Go on, Emma,” Frankie was saying. “Prove how brave you are!”

  “Keep it down,” I whispered. “Everyone’s looking.”

  “Let them,” said Frankie. “What use is a dare with no witnesses?”

  “A dare!” I gulped. ‘“What do you mean?”

  “I dare Emma to go down into the castle dungeons!” said Frankie loudly.

  Everyone gasped.

  Emma looked slightly pale, but she said quickly, “Make it a double dare and I’ll accept.”

  “Fine by me,” Frankie said in a fierce voice.

  To my dismay, Kirstin said, “All the Sleepover Club girls should go. Make it a Sleepover Club Dare,” she giggled. “No wimping allowed.”

  I didn’t want any kind of dare. I was totally bewildered. How did this even get started?

  Emma was frowning at the wall map. “OK, everyone follow me.”

  The other kids looked at us in awe. They couldn’t believe we were going down to the dungeons on our own, and nor could I.

  We followed Emma downstairs and along twisty stone corridors until we were dizzy. Finally we went down a steep flight of steps. At the bottom was a huge, iron-studded door.

  “They probably keep it locked,” Rosie said hopefully. “If there’s a torture chamber down there.”

  But I knew we weren’t that lucky.

  It was like that time my little brother tried to put those baby frogs in his pocket. They hopped out and went legging it back to the brook, as fast as he put them in. “I wanted to be their friend,” he’d sobbed.

  I’d been hoping that if I tried hard enough, everyone would get on. I’d tried so hard I was worn out. And it had been a total waste of time. Now Emma and Frankie were glowering at each other outside a scary medieval dungeon. Any minute now Kirstin would suss what was going on.

  Emma turned the knob and triumphantly yanked the door open, straining against its weight. On the other side, worn stone steps disappeared into the dark. Operation Pretend Friend had come to the end of the road.

  “Anyone got a match?” said Emma in a casual voice.

  “It’s obvious you aren’t in the Brownies!” said Frankie contemptuously.

  She pushed past Emma, and I saw she was shining a tiny pencil torch. She ducked through the doorway, beaming the narrow ray of light into the dark. Even with the torch it looked horribly creepy. And I could hear sounds of water dripping steadily on stone.

  “Well, come on,” Frankie called to Emma. “Or everyone will think you’re chicken!”

  Emma tossed her ponytail and started off down the steps.

  I don’t think either of them wanted to go into a dungeon which might have been used as a medieval torture chamber. But it had become a matter of honour.

  I’m the Sleepover Club wimp as you know, but I couldn’t let Frankie do her horrifying dare alone. I took a deep breath and went pattering after her down the steps. I knew Rosie, Kenny and Lyndz were following, because I could hear bizarre snatches of conversation.

  “You can share out my new Leicester City kit between you,” Kenny whispered. “Take care of it and remember me fondly.”

  Rosie gave a hysterical giggle. “How can we remember you if we’re dead, birdbrain?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I called to them. “We’re going to be fine.”

  Unfortunately my voice gave a massive wobble in the middle.

  “Hurry up, guys!” Frankie yelled. “It’s freezing down here!”

  “Oh, no! That means it’s haunted,” Rosie squeaked. “It’s always cold where there are ghosts.”

  We found ourselves in a kind of crude tunnel that had been carved into the rock. The ceiling was so low there was hardly room to stand. There was only one direction to go. The sign said: This Way To The Dungeons.

  As we tiptoed down the dank passage, I thought I heard faint scratching inside the walls. “Do you think they have rats in this castle?” I asked, trying to sound as if I was just inquiring.

  “Of course there are, you bozo,” said Kenny. “There’s always rats in dungeons.”

  I froze. “Are there?”

  “Get a move on, Flissie, or they’ll come and nibble your toes,” she said impatiently.

  “Kenny’s joking,” said Lyndz in my ear. “It’s probably just the heating pipes creaking or something.”

  We crept cautiously along the passageway, following the weak light of Frankie’s torch. Every sound made me break into goose bumps. If we’d been in Mr Clemency’s group, we’d have finished our tour by now. We’d be outside in the spring sunshine, sharing out the Celebration chocolates. Not down here in the damp, smelly dark with invisible rats.

  Suddenly someone screamed.

  Then I saw the dead body and someone else started screaming and screaming. It took me ages to realise it was me.

  The corpse dangled from its chains like a horrible puppet. We all clutched each other gibbering with fear.

  Lyndz sounded as if she might be going to be sick. “You can see the blood!” she whispered. “He must have died SO horribly!”

  Kirstin squeezed past without a word and went to inspect the body. It’s unbelievable how cool Australians are in a crisis. “Hmmn,” she said. “I thought it was well-preserved for a corpse. A medieval torture victim should be dust and bones by now.”

  We stared at her in the flickering torchlight.

  “Relax, you guys!” she chuckled. “It’s a waxwork. They probably used to run scary dungeon tours or something. Not very good ones by the look of this guy.”

  I felt such an idiot. Now I really came to look, the dead body was obviously a dummy. I could tell Emma felt really embarrassed too.

  “I knew it wasn’t real,” she said quickly.

  “Is that why you held on so tightly you practically broke my arm?” Frankie sneered.

  “I did not,” Emma snapped.

  Kirstin was groping her way along the tunnel. “There’s a door at the end,” she called. “What do you reckon we’ll find in here?”

  “Don’t bother,” said Kenny gloomily. “It’ll just be another stupid dummy.”

  “Hey, I’ve come all the way from Australia for this,” Kirstin said cheerfully. “I want my money’s worth.”

  She lifted the old-fashioned latch on the door, then suddenly staggered back.

  “Are you OK?” asked Frankie.

  Kirstin shook her head. “I’m not sure. The door felt so cold,” she whispered. “It was so cold it hurt.”

  “I think we should go now,” Lyndz said in a rather high voice. “I think we should go back to the others.”

  Emma gave Frankie a wary look. “If I go
it’s not because I’m scared,” she gulped.

  Frankie shook her head. “Me neither.”

  But before anyone could move. Kirstin began to shiver violently. “It’s so cold,” she moaned. “And everything’s going so dark.”

  To our horror, she crumpled to the floor, still moaning faintly.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Emma squeaked.

  “I think she had some kind of fainting fit.” Frankie sounded genuinely scared. “You’re the medical person, Kenny. What should we do?”

  “I’m going to get Mrs Weaver,” Kenny whispered. “Kirstin could be seriously ill.”

  “NO.”

  Considering she’d just fainted, Kirstin’s voice sounded really loud and strange. She rose very slowly to her feet. “Stay where you are, mortal!” she boomed.

  Something had definitely happened to Kirstin’s voice. It sounded deeper and harsher. Her face looked different too. Kind of stern and unfriendly.

  “You should probably sit down,” said Emma nervously. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you fainted.”

  “I am perfectly well, now I have this mortal’s body,” Kirstin said in her new scary voice.

  I had a very creepy feeling. Something really weird had happened to Kirstin. Something supernatural-weird.

  “What do you mean you’ve got her body?” Frankie quavered.

  “Quiet!” said the voice. “Or I will crush your pathetic bones to pulp!”

  Lyndz whimpered and covered her eyes.

  “Who – who are you?” stammered Emma.

  “I am an unquiet spirit. My life was taken in this dungeon and now I want your blood in revenge!”

  That’s all we needed to hear. We picked up our heels and ran screaming from the dungeon. I fell over and landed on my knees hard. But I didn’t care about the pain or that I might be bleeding on my new jeans. I just wanted to get out of the dark and back to safety. We ran up the stairs, into the reception hall and straight into Mrs Skinner.

  “Girls, girls, what’s all this?”

  Everyone was babbling hysterically. Frankie was actually crying.

  “It’s my fault!” she wept. “If I hadn’t dared Emma, the unquiet spirit wouldn’t have got Kirstin!”

  Mrs Skinner looked baffled. “Who got who? What are you talking about?”