The Phredde Collection

by Jackie French

  ‘Help!’ shrieked Mr Nahsti.

  ‘Don’t look at me!’ I said. ‘I’m the one chained up on the garage floor, remember? I couldn’t help you even if I wanted to. Which I don’t,’ I added. ‘Hey, Jack, is that you?’

  A vague ghostly presence hovered in front of me. I couldn’t really see him, not till it grew dark. But now I knew what to look, er, feel, er…sense, I knew that he was there.

  ‘Yes, sweetie,’ said Jack the Clipper. ‘It’s me in person! The little dog came yapping and we guessed that there was something wrong.’

  ‘Willie? But he’s been here all the—’

  I stopped. How could you tell with a ghost? For all I knew, Willie could have been off exploring the Arctic while I thought he was still on my lap.

  ‘I’m here too,’ said Annie’s voice.

  I grinned. ‘I guessed.’

  ‘Knock, knock,’ began Knock-knock.

  ‘Shut up!’ yelled a host of ghostly voices.

  ‘This is no time for jokes,’ said Uncle Carbuncle’s voice. ‘Are you all right, niece?’

  ‘Sort of,’ I said. ‘Just a bit tied up right now. Hey, do you think one of you could get these handcuffs off me?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Uncle Carbuncle,’but none of us is a locksmith. Ghosts can only touch—’

  ‘What they loved when they were alive,’ I finished. ‘Yeah, I know.’ I sighed.

  ‘I can give you a slice of orange and pineapple meringue pie?’ offered Cookie’s voice.

  ‘I’d rather have a drink,’ I said honestly.

  ‘No worries.’

  A ghostly straw hovered under my nose. I managed to get my mouth over it (which isn’t easy without hands—you try it). ‘Mmm,’ I said. It was strawberry milkshake with lots of ice-cream and real mashed-up strawberries—my favourite. I sucked till it began to slurp.

  ‘You won’t get away with this!’ muttered Mr Nahsti. He began to roll towards the open door, hair and all.

  ‘Hey, stop him!’ I yelled. ‘Er, you can’t, can you?’

  ‘I could throw a cream pie in his face,’ offered Cookie.

  ‘I could cover him in a pile of underpants,’ suggested Annie. ‘But he’d just crawl out.’

  ‘Wuff,’ barked Willie. A small yellow stain appeared on Mr Nahsti’s back. But it didn’t slow him down.

  ‘Time to call in the troops,’ said Uncle Carbuncle thoughtfully.

  I stared. Not that there was much to stare at, just a slight thickening in the air. ‘You don’t have an army, do you?’ I demanded. ‘An army of ghosts?’

  ‘Not as such,’ said Uncle Carbuncle. ‘But there is someone I can call.’ He gave a ghostly chuckle. ‘Or something…’

  He let out a whistle.

  Nothing happened.

  Mr Nahsti was almost at the door now. And then I heard it.

  A sort of humming…or slithering…No, more like a giant mud slide squelching closer, and closer still…

  I began to feel a bit nervous. I mean, there are ghosts and there are ghosts. And this sounded like…

  The squelching grew louder. The garage floor began to gently vibrate. The door crashed open and there was…

  Nothing! Nothing that I could see anyway. Just a thick line of ooze that glistened across the floor.

  ‘What is it?’ I yelled.

  ‘Just a snail,’ said Uncle Carbuncle’s voice comfortingly.

  I stared at the slime freeway crossing the garage.

  ‘But snails are tiny!’

  ‘Yeah, but this is a ghost snail, mate,’ said Cookie. ‘And a ghost can be any size it likes. Slimy here always wanted to be big. When you’ve been tiny all your life, always scared of the giant foot coming down from the sky—’

  ‘You feel like being big for a change,’ I finished with a gulp. I was REALLY glad I hadn’t met Slimy last night.

  ‘Ahhhhhhkkk!’ shrieked Mr Nahsti.

  To be honest, I felt a bit like yelling ‘Ahhh!’ myself. But I didn’t, because so far Slimy seemed to be on my side, and also because I was biting my lips really hard to stop them shouting ‘Help, help! It’s all oozy and it’d better not touch me! GET ME OUT OF HERE!’

  The shiny trail oozed closer and closer to Mr Nahsti, who was slithering frantically on his tummy back towards the car, hoping to hide underneath. But a villainous solicitor can’t slither as fast as a giant snail.

  The snail was on him now. I still couldn’t see it, but I could see its path. The ooze spread over the back of Mr Nahsti’s legs, then over his body and over his head. It glistened in the light from the door.

  The ooze spread to one side for a minute, then something large and ghostly rolled Mr Nahsti over. His legs and arms were oozed to his body, but his face was still free. ‘Help!’ he begged me. ‘Help!!!’

  ‘How?’ I asked, and held up my cuffed hands.

  ‘The keys are on the kitchen bench!’ choked out Mr Nahsti, as the snail began to slide up his legs again, top side this time. ‘Please! It’s going to suffocate me! I’m going to be smothered in ooze!’

  ‘Any of you ghosts able to lift a set of keys?’ I asked.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Uncle Carbuncle. He didn’t sound sorry at all. Just faintly I caught a flash of a ghostly grin.

  Mr Nahsti’s legs were in a cocoon of slime now. Then his waist, his chest…

  Mr Nahsti was the sort of maggot even a leftover meat pie would reject. But I didn’t want him to be suffocated in ghostly slime. ‘Um…’ I said. I wasn’t sure how you stopped a giant ghostly snail.

  Suddenly the snail trail stopped all by itself. I could faintly see the outline of a gigantic snail. Its antennae twitched towards me, as though to say,’Did I do a good job?’

  ‘Er, good snail,’ I said. ‘Nice snail. You did a wonderful job.’

  Slimy’s antennae twitched happily. Then the faint image vanished and a new trail spread across the garage floor as Slimy oozed out the door again. I wondered briefly if ghost snails could eat your garden, and if so, would there be any of Mr Nahsti’s garden left by tomorrow?

  But I didn’t care much. I had more urgent worries now.

  ‘Help!’ whispered Mr Nahsti, as though he was afraid that if he yelled something even worse might happen to him. We all ignored him.

  ‘Uncle Carbuncle, I have to get out of here!’ I cried. ‘It’ll be night-time soon, and if I’m not back in the mansion by then I’ll lose the house! And you’ll all be homeless!’

  I struggled to my feet and began to jump across the garage. It wasn’t easy—you try jumping with your ankles cuffed together and your hands. But it was all I could think to do.

  ‘Stop!’ ordered Uncle Carbuncle. ‘There’s no way you can jump all the way back to the mansion.’

  ‘But I have to try! Maybe a car will pick me up if I can get to the road—’

  ‘Even a car couldn’t get you there in time,’ said Uncle Carbuncle.

  ‘Then Mr Nahsti’s won!’ I wailed. ‘He’ll get the house and all the money and—’

  I stopped.

  Something was coming.

  Chapter 17

  The Ghost Train Arrives

  I didn’t understand what it was at first. I mean, trains run on railway tracks, don’t they? They don’t roar through the sky and come zooming down to your garage door.

  Not unless they’re ghost trains…

  It was the same sound I’d heard the night before—the chug-chug-chugging and the distant scream of the whistle. It got closer and closer till, with a scream of its brakes, the ghost train stopped right outside.

  ‘Knock, knock,’ said Knock-knock’s voice cheerfully.

  ‘Er, who’s there?’ I asked.

  ‘Owl.’

  ‘Haven’t we had this one before? Owl who?’

  ‘Owl aboard!’

  ‘Wh-what?’ I stammered.

  ‘All aboard!’ repeated Knock-knock urgently.

  ‘Come on, niece!’ yelled Uncle Carbuncle. ‘Move!’

  So I did. I sort o
f half jumped, half inched across the garage. My ankles felt as if they were about to snap, and I bumped against so many things I was one big bruise.

  ‘What about Mr Nahsti?’ I puffed.

  ‘He can have a nice oozy snoozy till morning,’ suggested Uncle Carbuncle. ‘Then you can ring triple 0 and leave an anonymous tip-off—man trapped in slug ooze in garage. Come on, niece! Hurry!’

  I hurried, bobbing and inching. I could just see the train now, a faint shimmer against the metal door of the garage. But when I bumped into it I could feel it all right. It was colder than any metal.

  ‘Where do I get on?’ I yelled. Ghostly glimmers are all very well, but it’s hard to make out the details.

  ‘The door’s another metre to the right!’ said Uncle Carbuncle.

  ‘Come on, Pru,’ urged Underpants Annie. ‘You’re doing fine!’

  Another inch…and another…and another…Suddenly my ankles bumped against a step. ‘Ow!’ I said.

  ‘That’s it, mate! You’re at the door!’ cried Cookie.

  But there was no way I could jump up the steps, not with my ankles tied. I tried to slither up them, but discovered that even though snakes can slither up steps, girls can’t.

  ‘Knock, knock,’ offered Knock-knock again.

  ‘Who’s there?’ I panted.

  ‘Grub.’

  ‘Grub who?’

  ‘Grub onto this with your teeth!’

  ‘Wha—’ I began, just as a cloth rasped against my mouth. I grabbed it with my teeth and held on hard.

  Up, up, up I went. I could feel the steps even if I couldn’t see them—bump, bump, bump. And then the floor of the train carriage under my head, my shoulders, and finally my legs as well. My teeth hurt. EVERYTHING hurt. But at least I was inside.

  I opened my mouth and spat out the scratchy cloth ‘What was THAT?’ I gasped.

  ‘Underpants,’ said Annie’s voice cheerfully.

  ‘What? You mean I had someone’s underpants in my mouth!’ I spluttered.

  ‘This is no time to be squeamish, niece!’ ordered Uncle Carbuncle.

  ‘Anyway, they were new underpants,’ said Annie hurriedly. ‘Never worn. With lace on them.’

  I swallowed, trying to get rid of the odd taste in my mouth.

  Tooo-oooot! the whistle screamed.

  And we were off.

  Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga…

  You know how a train goes choofa-choofa-choofa as it rides along the rails, and the scenery flows past outside so you can see into everyone’s backyards and sometimes their kitchen windows too, and sometimes there’s an attendant who brings you drinks or chips?

  This wasn’t like that at all.

  To start with, there were no rails.

  ‘Heeelpp!’ I shrieked as we soared up into the air and I rolled backwards and lodged against a seat.

  Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga…

  There’s only one thing worse than being in a runaway train soaring into the sky, and that’s being in a train you can’t even SEE soaring into the sky!

  But there’s one thing even worse than that too! And that’s falling out of one!

  ‘Hold on!’ cried Annie.

  ‘How can I hold on?’ I yelled. ‘I’m all tied up!’

  ‘Well, um…’ began Annie.

  ‘Hold on a second, girl,’ shouted Jack the Clipper.

  I felt my long blonde hair grow even longer (yes, you can feel hair growing when it’s as fast as that—trust me!)

  ‘There you are, lovey,’ said Jack proudly. ‘You’re tied to the seat by your hair. And it DOES look pretty. That colour really suits you.’

  ‘Thanks…I think,’ I said, my head was tugged by a thousand tiny ropes as we veered to the right. But it was better than rolling around the floor. Or falling out.

  I wondered if anyone had ever been killed falling out of a ghost train. An emu might suddenly learn to fly if it fell out of a plane, but a kid like me didn’t even have wings…

  Too-oooot!

  Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga…

  I tried not to look down. I looked up instead, but that was worse. Those clouds were awfully near. So I looked straight out. An eagle stared at me, eye to eye, then gave a startled squawk and flapped away.

  Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga…

  I could smell engine smoke, but I couldn’t see it. I could smell oil too, and the faint scent of old leather seats and thermoses of tea and picnic baskets with tomato sandwiches.

  ‘Next stop, haunted mansion!’ a ghostly voice shouted. ‘All change for the Tunnel of Fear!’

  ‘What Tunnel of Fear?’ I screeched.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ advised Uncle Carbuncle.

  ‘Don’t worry about it? I’m tied by my hair to a runaway ghost train filled with ghosts and headed towards a haunted house and you say don’t worry about it!’

  ‘Wuff,’ said Willie, sitting on my back. At least I hoped he was only sitting.

  And then I felt it…I was going to be car sick again!

  Well, train sick. Ghost-train sick. I’d never been train sick before, but then I’d never been on a train that went swooping up into the sky…or dooooowwwwnnnnnnnnn!

  ‘Hel…ooop,’ I finished. ‘Sorry about that,’

  I added.

  ‘No worries, my dear,’ said Uncle Carbuncle kindly. ‘It went right through me. One of the advantages of being a ghost, you know.’

  ‘Terrible waste of a strawberry milkshake though,’ muttered Cookie.

  ‘DON’T mention milkshakes,’ I warned him. ‘Oooo…off!’

  Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga…ugga-ugga…uuuuuuu…Then the train noise slowed down to a mutter.

  Suddenly I had more urgent things to think about than being sick! I stared down at the ground below. No sign of the mansion yet. Just trees…and more trees…

  ‘Ch-uu-ggggg…’

  The engine noise was just a slow groan now. We were hardly moving.

  ‘Why are we slowing down?’ I yelled ‘We’re not there yet!’

  ‘Out of coal!’ cried Uncle Carbuncle.

  ‘But it’s a ghost train!’

  ‘And it runs on ghost coal. But there wasn’t time to load on more before we came to rescue you!’

  ‘But-but…’ I stammered. The train wasn’t just slowing down! it was losing height as well!

  And so was I…

  ‘Do something!’ I screamed. ‘Can’t Knock-knock go and get more coal?’

  ‘If he vanishes, the train vanishes too,’ said Annie helplessly. ‘We’ll be all right. But you’ll—’

  ‘I know! I know!’ I yelled. ‘Can’t the train burn something other than coal?’

  ‘Well, wood, I suppose,’ said Uncle Carbuncle. ‘But none of us are carpenters. We can’t touch wood!’

  I could feel a sinking feeling…a REALLY sinking feeling. I tried to think. But it’s hard to think properly when you’re tied by your hair to a ghost train that’s about to fall out of the sky and you’re all chained up and…and…

  Suddenly I had it.

  ‘Think what you CAN touch!’ I yelled. ‘Cookie, what can you cook that burns?’

  ‘Well, er, um, I don’t know, mate.’

  ‘Think!’ I screamed. ‘I’m too young to become a ghost! And if I’m a ghost, then you’re all homeless!’

  ‘Er…olive oil,’ Cookie said. ‘And…and lard. Lard makes great pastry—’

  ‘Great. Go and get some lumps of lard! BIG lumps! And olive oil! And Annie, go and get all the underpants you can!’

  ‘Of course!’ shouted Uncle Carbuncle. ‘We can soak the underpants in oil and fat. Then they’ll burn!’

  A cold breeze filled the carriage.

  You know what’s worse than being in a ghost train that’s falling from the sky? Being ALONE in a ghost train that’s falling from the sky.

  I could hardly hear the engine now. The train was falling…falling…falling…

  Ch-uu-g-g…ch-uuu-gggg-aaa…chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga…

&n
bsp; Suddenly we stopped falling. We were on the move again, through the clouds!

  I looked again!

  Those weren’t clouds! They were underpants! Pink ones, green ones, leopardskin; thongs and bloomers and a hundred styles I didn’t know the name of. Underpants with buttoned bums on long ruffled legs and other sort of underpants that I bet would make Amelia sooo jealous. I made a note to ask Annie to make me some…just as soon as I got out of here!

  ‘You alright, Pru sweetie?’ asked Jack’s voice.

  ‘I-I’m fine,’ I stammered.

  ‘Anything I can get you, mate? Nice chocolate ice-cream sundae? Tomato and eggplant quiche with caramelised onions and a green salad?’ enquired Cookie.

  ‘Er…no. Thank you,’ I said.

  Suddenly we began to slow again. My heart went boom, boom, boom. But the train engine was still going chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga…cre-ar-arkkk!

  It stopped.

  We’d landed.

  I could see the sun hovering on the horizon above the lake. I had maybe ten seconds, I reckoned, to get into the house by nightfall.

  ‘Jack!’ I yelled. ‘Get rid of the hair! Now!’

  Suddenly the pressure on my scalp lifted. I sat up and wriggled across the floor till my legs found space, then slithered down the outside of the train. I bruised the backs of my legs against the steps, but I couldn’t help that. Then I was bounding—well, bobbing—up the path to the front door. It opened with a proper ghost-house creak.

  ‘Turned the creak off last time,’ said Uncle Carbuncle beside me. ‘Didn’t want to frighten you.’

  I forced my aching feet to jump up the steps. One step…two steps…and then I tripped. I landed on my nose and the world went green and black and red and HURT. But I pulled my legs up and into the house despite the pain, just as the sun slid down past the lake.

  I was inside!

  Chapter 18

  A Long Dark Night

  ‘Knock, knock.’

  ‘Who’s there?’ I asked wearily, still lying on the floor by the door.

  ‘Termite.’

  ‘Termite who?’

  ‘Termites the night you get to keep the house,’ said Knock-knock.

  But he was trying to keep my spirits up. And he’d rescued me.

  ‘Ha, ha,’ I said. I wondered how you thanked a ghost who only spoke in knock-knock jokes, then realised.