“No, for Boccabella knew one thing for certain,” Hetty Hyssop continued. “He knew that a GHADAP is terrified of touching anything from its human past. The more contact a GHADAP had with this object during its life, and the closer the contact was, the more anxious it is to avoid touching it now in the present. The only thing this evidently doesn’t apply to is the building it lived in. Boccabella observed on several occasions how GHADAPs recoil from old bed linens, suits of armor, or items of clothing, as if the devil himself were hiding in them. So he took a gamble and tried using the old cloak to protect himself from being liquidized. At the same time he hoped that the ghost would be destroyed on the spot when it touched the cloak.”
“And?” asked Tom, on tenterhooks. “Did it work?”
Hetty Hyssop nodded. “The ghost turned to mist and vanished.”
“Wow,” Tom murmured. “Pretty brave of this Boccabella fellow, I have to say.”
“Miiist.” Hugo sighed. “Miiist and vaaaanished. What a piiiity! Iiiiii had soooo much fun with the Baroness.”
Tom cast him an annoyed glance, but Hetty Hyssop turned to the Worms.
“So… where do we find this dress?”
“It’s here!” Mrs. Worm explained triumphantly. “It had — hic — a little hole in it, and I brought it over here to — hic — be repaired a few days ago.”
Excited, she trotted over to an old cupboard behind a couple of bashed-up suits of armor, and came back with a red dress. It was undoubtedly the same dress that the Baroness was wearing in her portrait.
“Oh dear!” said Tom. “Who’s that supposed to fit, then?”
“I’m afraid you’re too plump, my love,” said Mr. Worm to his wife. “And Hetty Hyssop is much too tall.”
“Well, people were much smaller back then,” said Hetty Hyssop. “And the Baroness is much bigger as a ghost than she was when she was alive. Hmm.” She rubbed the tip of her nose thoughtfully. “I fear there’s only one person here who’ll fit into the dress.”
“Who?” asked Tom.
Hugo gave him a nasty smile. “Yooooou,” he breathed. “Whoooo else?”
“Me?” Tom looked at the others in astonishment. “Me? Are you joking? There’s no way I’m putting on a dress.”
“Of course not.” Hetty Hyssop shook her head. “I couldn’t agree with you more. It would be far too dangerous. After all, who can say whether Boccabella’s method works on all GHADAPs? And there’s no way I want to take you home in a water bottle.”
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant!” cried Tom. “I don’t mean it’s too dangerous for me!” He hadn’t given that a moment’s thought. “But I can’t, I mean…” He turned beet red. “I’m not standing out there on the drawbridge in a dress. It’s…” Awkwardly, he set his glasses straight. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Hugo laughed, tapping Tom on the nose with an icy finger. “That’s pretty stuuupid, don’t yooooou thiiiink? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Look who’s talking,” growled Tom. “You spend all your time floating around the place in that flapping thing.”
“Hmm,” said Hetty Hyssop. “So what do we do? We’ve got two hours to come up with something. That is, if our friend doesn’t get back early. And she’ll be pretty annoyed, that’s for sure.”
They all fell into a depressed silence.
Tom felt wretched. Absolutely wretched.
“Yeah, OK,” he said finally. “I’ll do it. I’ll put the thing on. But I don’t have to wear a wig or anything, do I?”
“A veil woooooouldn’t be baaaaad,” breathed Hugo. “It’d suuuit yoooou down to the grooooound.”
“Hugo, leave him alone,” said Hetty Hyssop, standing up. “Thank you very much, Tom. You are once again a pleasure to work with. Let’s get everything ready. Mrs. Worm, can you alter the dress so that the Baroness won’t recognize it?”
“No — hic — problem,” said Mrs. Worm.
“Good,” said Hetty Hyssop. “Then you’d better start now. We don’t have much time.”
10
It was shortly after four a.m. when Tom stepped out onto the drawbridge with Hetty Hyssop. The night hung as black as pitch over the old castle; only the snow shimmered in the darkness. It had stopped snowing, but an icy wind was whirling around the walls and up to the chapel belfry. The bell’s clanging sounded eerie as it echoed around, the only noise in the stillness of the night.
Tom shuddered. He felt awful. The Baroness’s dress flapped around his arms and legs, and he was wretchedly cold despite having jeans and a sweater on underneath. And the veil he wore to keep the Baroness from recognizing him didn’t make things better.
“Good grief,” Tom muttered. “At least nobody can see me like this.”
“Oh, come now!” said Hetty Hyssop. “In some countries men wear dresses all the time, don’t they? Switch on your Spook Energy Visualizer, please.”
“OK!” Tom fumbled in his clothes and brought out something that looked exactly like a flashlight, apart from the fact that it had a strangely shaped blue bulb. He clipped it to the red dress and slowly shone the blue light over the bridge.
“There!” he whispered. “That’s where it must have happened.”
Far to the right, on the edge of the bridge, the snow began to glow as the blue light fell on it. It swirled high into the air and fell lightly down into the dark water of the moat. A faint sigh cut through the night.
“Have you found anything?” cried Mr. Worm.
He and his wife were sitting together in a rowboat under the bridge. The pair of them had insisted on being there right to the bitter end.
“Yes, we’ve found the spot!” answered Hetty Hyssop. “But not another peep out of you, understood? Otherwise it’s possible that the Baroness will have a go at you rather than at our well-dressed friend here.”
Tom swallowed. He suddenly had a picture of long, pale fingers grasping for him. He shook his head firmly.
“Something wrong?” asked Hetty, concerned.
“No, no,” said Tom. Ghosthunters’ rule, he reminded himself silently: Never imagine too clearly what could happen to you. Never ever.
Without further hesitation he gathered up the long dress and placed himself right on the spot where the snow had just swirled up. That part of the drawbridge was still glowing, but when Tom unclipped the Spook Energy Visualizer, the blue light disappeared as if someone had wiped it away.
What a strange feeling, thought Tom. Standing exactly where Death snatched the Baroness. For a brief moment his feet felt quite hot.
Hetty looked at the clock. “Four-thirty. It’s nearly time. Are you ready, Tom? Your teeth are chattering.”
“It’s just the cold,” Tom growled.
“Fine, then I’ll give Hugo the signal!” Hetty Hyssop waved up at the belfry with a white handkerchief. Hugo was waiting there to join in.
“Listen, my dear young chap.” Hetty put her arm around Tom’s shoulders. “Promise me you won’t play the hero. If anything seems strange to you, then run. Or jump into the moat. Promise?”
Tom nodded and looked down into the black water. A layer of ice was already forming at the edges of the moat.
“Things’d have to be pretty bad for me to jump in there,” he said. “With this dress on, I’d sink like lead. No wonder the Baroness drowned, wearing all these heavy layers!”
“Well, the Worms could fish you out if need be,” said Hetty Hyssop. “But I hope such measures won’t be necessary. By the way, Boccabella told me that the place where the ghost touched him immediately started to itch as if he’d been stung by a nettle. If you feel anything else, then run — got it? I’ll be waiting in the car at the end of the bridge. So you’ve only got to cover a short distance, OK?”
“OK,” said Tom and tried his best to sound completely fearless.
“Good!” Hetty Hyssop clapped her hand on his shoulder again. “I really wish I were standing here instead of you, but my cursed height…”
“Aaaahhhhiiii!�
�� A wailing voice came from the castle courtyard. “Ha-haaaa! It’s my castle now. Yes, it’s miiiiine nooooow, old girl. Oooooh, dooooon’t loooook sooooo angry. Cooooome on, coooome and fetch it, coooome and fetch yoooour head, Baroness Jaspaaaaara!”
“Seems like our plan is working!” whispered Hetty Hyssop. “Hugo’s lured her outside. Good luck, Tom!”
Then she quickly ran to her car, leaving Tom behind, all alone on the bridge.
The wind buffeted the red dress and tore at the long veil. Tom heard Hugo approaching; he drew closer and closer. And Tom knew who was following the ASG, furious and powerful after her long night: the Baroness.
“Tra-la-la!” piped Hugo, hastily wobbling out of the dark portal. “Coooome and fetch iiiit, Baroness!”
Once again, he had the GHADAP’s head clasped under his pale arm. With a nasty grin, Hugo floated up to the battlements of the castle wall and waved down at Tom. His garish green eyes glowed like those of an owl in the darkness.
They didn’t have to wait long for Hugo’s pursuer.
With a ghastly screech, the headless Baroness came floating onto the drawbridge. In her rage, she was flickering so brightly that the water in the moat turned shimmering silver. Jaspara’s moldy arms groped searchingly through the cold air. Silently Hugo floated down to her and put her head back on her neck. The wrong way around. Then he speedily floated back onto the castle wall.
“Aaaaargh!” howled the Baroness. “Oooooh, veeeery fuuuuunny, yoooooou sliiiiimy smaaaaart aaaaaleeeeeck!” Angrily, she took off her head and put it back the right way around. “Juuuuust gooooo aaaaawaaaay! Theeeeereeee’s nooooot rooooooooom fooooor twooooo ghooooosts heeeereeeee.…”
At that moment she spotted Tom.
She stopped in her tracks as if turned to stone. Her eyes almost popped out of their dark sockets. It was a truly terrifying sight.
“Yooooouuuuu!” the Baroness breathed threateningly. “Whooooo aaaaareeeee yooooouuuuu?”
Tom’s teeth chattered like an old typewriter. Annoyed, he clamped them together.
Slowly, the Baroness floated over to Tom. She was still gigantic. Tom barely reached up to her belly button.
“Whaaaaat dooooo yooooouuuuu waaaaant heeeeereeeee?” she hissed. “Thiiiiis iiiiis my teeeeer-riiiiitooooory, gooooot iiiiit?”
Tom took a deep breath. Their plan was working so far. The Baroness had no idea who was standing in front of her. And she was angry. That made her blind.
“Heeeellooo, Jaspara!” trilled Tom in a high voice. “Yoouuu loooook hiiideeeooouuus. Hiiideeeooouuus aaaaas aaalwaaays.”
Wow, was it ever difficult to talk like a ghost.
“Whaaaaat?” screeched Jaspara. “Whaaaaat diiiiid yooooouuuuu saaaaay, frooooog-faaaaaceeeee?”
By now the Baroness was standing so close to Tom that he could have touched her. Her revolting moldy stench almost took his breath away. But if he so much as moved one step away from the spot where she had met her doom, all would be lost.
So Tom mustered up all his courage and had another go at her. “Yooouuu viiiiiile beeeeeast!” he cried in a high falsetto. “Yooouuu ooold mooooonster! You —”
The Baroness silenced him abruptly by tearing the veil from his head with one pull.
“Aaaaah!” She recoiled in surprise. “Whaaaaat’s goooooiiiiing oooon? Whaaaaat’s aaaaall thiiiiis aaaaa-booooouuuuut? Whaaaaat gaaaaameeeee aaaaareeeee yooooouuu plaaaaayiiiing wiiiiith meeeee, liiiiittleeeee squuuuuiiiiirt? Wiiiiith meeeee, Jaaaaaspaaaaaraaaaa vooooon Gloooooooooomstooooone?”
What was Tom supposed to say? That he wanted to destroy her and turn her into swirling fog?
It’s all over! he thought. And I’m stuck in this wretched dress! Oh well, so who cares if she turns me into a puddle.
“Run, Tom!” shouted Hetty through the open car window. “Quickly!”
But Tom had no intention of running. After all, Boccabella hadn’t run away, either.
“Get lost!” he shouted, his voice shaking just a little bit. “You bore me to death!” He had to throw his head right back in order to look into the Baroness’s evil red eyes. “You were a monster when you were human, but you’re the absolute pits as a ghost!”
“Sooo?” howled Jaspara, bending down over him.
Tom froze. He turned so cold that he could barely feel a thing. Not the wind, not his fear — and he’d already lost all feeling in his feet.
Hetty Hyssop sprang out of the car and ran across to them. But just before she reached the bridge, she slipped on an iced-over puddle and plunged headlong into the moat.
“Over here!” Tom heard Mr. Worm calling. “Over here, Mrs. Hyssop!”
The Baroness paid not the slightest attention to the commotion in the moat. She only had eyes for Tom. She bent farther and farther down over him with a smile that was so abysmally evil, Tom’s teeth started to chatter uncontrollably again.
“Leeeet goooooo of hiiiiim!”
Hugo appeared so suddenly behind the Baroness that even Tom turned in surprise. Blue with rage, the ASG wobbled toward the much bigger ghost. “Leeeeave hiiiiim alooooone!”
“Whaaaaat? Dooooo yooooouuuuu liiiiikeeeee theeeee yooooouuuuungster?” breathed the Baroness maliciously. “Theeeen juuuust looooooook whaaaaat Iiiii’m goooooiiiiing tooooo dooooo tooooo hiiiiim.”
Hugo tried to grab hold of her head again, but this time Jaspara was ready for him. Howling, she whirled around, took a deep breath, and blew the ASG into the nearest tree.
Oh great! thought Tom, not sure whether his knees were shaking more from the cold or from fear. Perhaps it’s time I vanished, too. But his legs wouldn’t move from the spot.
“Sooooo!” howled the Baroness, flashing her red eyes at him. Tom had felt these eyes once before, when he first arrived at the castle.
“Aaaaand nooooooow iiiiit’sssss yooooouuuuur tuuuuurn, my laaaaad.” She smiled her ghastly smile again. “Iiii’m goooooiiiiing tooooo sluuurp yoooouuuu uuuuup!” she breathed. “Aaaaah, yooooouuuuu’ll beeeee taaaaasty!”
Then she reached out her hands.
Her pale fingers closed around Tom’s arms like the claws of a bird of prey. But as they did so, she touched the dress as well — the very dress that had kept her human body warm so many hundreds of years ago.
Tom immediately felt the itchy, tingling sensation, just as the famous Boccabella had described it.
“Aaaaargh!” Jaspara’s shriek was so terrible and piercing that Tom had to clamp his hands to his ears.
But he could still hear the hideous hissing sound — the hissing as Jaspara disintegrated. First of all her entire body turned transparent like frosted glass. Then it fell apart like a bit of threadbare rag and was blown away by the wind.
11
“Tom!” cried Hetty Hyssop from under the bridge. “Tom, where are you?” “Everything’s fine!” cried Tom, though his voice might have suggested otherwise.
“Bravooooo!” cried Hugo from up in the tree. “He vaaaporiiized her, toooootally vaaaporiiized her.”
His knees trembling, Tom went over to the drawbridge railing and looked down.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you, young man!” cried Mr. Worm, holding up his lantern. Next to him sat his wife and the sopping-wet Hetty Hyssop.
“There was such a dreadful — hie — noise up there!” cried Mrs. Worm. “We were — hie — terribly worried.”
“She’s gone,” said Tom. “Dissolved, blown away, kaput. Professor Boccabella’s method worked brilliantly!”
“My dear Tom,” said Hetty Hyssop, wiping her dripping nose. “My very dear Tom, you are an astonishingly brave person! How on earth could you stand there as cool as a cucumber when she tore the veil off you? I don’t believe it!”
“Oh well, you know,” murmured Tom, embarrassed. “It could have been worse.”
“Could have been worse?” cried Hetty Hyssop. “It was the most reckless, the most lunatic, and the bravest ghosthunting I’ve ever seen. My old heart almost packed it in. And then I went and f
ell in the moat as well. Talk about showing myself up!” Shaking her head, she looked down. “Oh well, that’s nothing new. Perhaps I should give up this nerve-racking career and write my memoirs instead.”
“What?” Tom sneezed violently. “Oh no, please don’t. But couldn’t we go into the warmth now? If my teeth chatter any longer, they’ll fall out.”
“Yes, of course!” cried Mr. Worm. “At once! Immediately! Though…” He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Though I dropped the oars in the water with shock. I wonder if Mr. Hugo would be so kind as to pull us to shore?”
Hugo was so kind, and whilst Tom was warming himself up in front of the fire, Mrs. Worm set about preparing a bang-up breakfast in the castle kitchen.
Outside, a cold, gray morning was dawning, but it was cozy and warm in the enormous kitchen. It smelled of hot cocoa and toast, and Tom felt fantastic from his head down to the tips of his toes.
Just like heroes usually feel…
Then they all sat together at the big wooden table where the castle’s servants once sat, eating French toast, fruit loaf with strawberry jam, and boiled eggs with toast. Yes, and Hugo once again told everyone how Tom had offed the dreadful and totally moldy Baroness, doing a very good imitation of Jaspara’s horrible voice. After all, the ASG had had a first-class view of events from his tree.
“I’ll driiiink tooooo Toooom!” breathed Hugo, raising his glass. “The best ghost vaaaaaapooorizer ever!”
“Oh, stop it,” murmured Tom, turning as red as a beet.
But Hugo hadn’t finished.
“Aaaaand Iiiii’ll drink,” he continued, sipping some of the iced water that Mrs. Worm had given him, “Iiiii’ll drink to the Baroness. She really was a viiiile, hideous ghost. And nooooo sense of humooooooor.”
He giggled hollowly. “She just coooooouldn’t take a joke, noooo, not at all.”
“I wouldn’t exactly find it funny if someone kept taking off my head,” said Tom, spreading butter on his fourth piece of fruit loaf. Ghosthunting always left him starving.
Ghosthunters and the Totally Moldy Baroness! Page 5